The Anniversary
by Gohanna
Summary: Dean has to protect Sam from a lot of people and evil supernatural things. He never thought he'd have to protect Sammy from one of the trusted people in their lives. WARNING: Abuse of a minor, implied sexual abuse, swearing, Dark themes. AU. COMPLETE. Would like to hear what you think. Let me know if I need improving, if you liked, loved or hated it.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING:**

Abuse of a minor, implied sexual abuse. Dark themes. Swearing involved.

I own nothing or nobody - except for this idea.

First time posting ... hope you all enjoy.

 **THE ANNIVERSARY**

Nineteen year old Dean Winchester sat at the bar and ordered another drink with his fake ID, forcing a smile onto his taunt lips for the sake of the scantily-clad woman who sat beside him, chatting him up big time.

Dean always _hated_ this time of the year; this particular anniversary, reminding him of everything that he had lost fifteen years ago when his mother was murdered by that son of a bitch demon that they now hunted with a vengeance. One day they would find that damn demon and Dean would have great pleasure in ripping it apart with his bare hands for everything they had lost because of it.

Fifteen years … and in all of that time, Dean's hurt and anger at the death of his beloved and beautiful mother had not faded or dimed. It had only grown, fuelling his desire for vengeance and justice.

Dean knew that he should be with his Dad and fifteen year old brother on this day – especially today – but Dean hadn't wanted to watch his father drown his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle; nor had he wanted to watch his normally rambunctious, energetic, vibrant little brother become withdrawn, moody and sullen.

He hadn't wanted to watch that cycle that _always_ ended with his brother and father arguing about something _stupid_ while Dean had to get in the middle, playing referee and nine times out of ten, getting a fist from either his father or brother – sometimes both – to the jaw after trying to separate them. Yep. That's the thanks he got. A fist to the fucking jaw for his efforts!

This time – today – Dean just _needed_ to be by himself for a few hours; He _needed_ to clear his head, psych himself up before he felt ready to face the cycle between his father and brother. He _needed_ to vent his own frustrations, sadness, anger and regret that this day _always_ made him feel. He just wanted to feel safe, secure and _loved_.

And so, when the alcohol had taken the raw edge off of his emotions, Dean had followed that sexy, voluptuous woman home and lost himself within her loving warm embrace, gentle, caressed touches and soft passionate kisses, vows and promises made as they melted and moulded into each other before they became one, Dean finally being able to release all of his pent up emotions without hurting anyone and without hurting himself; content and at ease for a short time before he had to go and deal with the aftermath between his father and brother.

Dean felt immense relief when he pulled up to the small apartment they were renting for the month when he noticed that his Dad's black truck wasn't in the driveway. That meant that he wouldn't have to be dealing with his father's drunken ass for the rest of the night, trying to diffuse both his brother and his father of their volatile and instant tempers.

Dean felt his heart become a little light, even allowing a small smile to appear upon his lips as he got out of the Impala and headed toward the apartment. Maybe this year would be different. Maybe this year there would be no cycle to diffuse or referee and he could just sit quietly and watch TV with his younger brother.

Dean's hopeful flare of optimism vanished the instant he went to put his key into the door and noticed that the door was unlocked and partially opened. Instinctively, Dean reached for his gun from where he had it tucked into the small of his back and held it out in front of him, on high alert as he slowly made his way into the dark apartment.

"Dad?" Dean called out after determining that there was no immediate threat in the room with him, fumbling blindly for the light-switch behind him. "Sammy? Are you her –"

Dean cut himself off mid-question as he gazed around the trashed apartment, his eyes growing wide with fear and panic, noticing the obvious signs of a struggle.

" _Sonuvabitch_ ," Dean swore under his breath, his heart beat speeding up a couple of notches when he noticed trace amounts of blood and … what the hell was that?!

Dean squatted down, his eyes drawn to clumps of … what looked like dog hair or … the shade of light brown hair that his little brother had. Dean's eyes narrowed, swallowing back his panic to make room for another emotion that was all too familiar to him; anger. Anger at the thought that _someone_ had hurt his little brother and he was going to make them pay for ever having laid a hand upon him!

"Sammy!" Dean bellowed, swiftly moving from a crouched position to standing in one fluid motion before stalking across the room and entering the hallway. He paused to listen in the quiet apartment; sure that he had heard something over the pounding of his heart.

There! There it was again. Stilted and muted, but Dean would know that voice anywhere. Gun at the ready, Dean took long strides down the hallway until he came to the room at the end of the hallway; the bathroom. "Sammy, are you in there?" Dean asked, rapping upon the door with the butt of his gun.

Dean heard a stifled cry from with the bathroom, his big brother instincts on high alert when he tried the door only to find it locked. "Sam? C'mon buddy, open up the door and let me in," Dean urged, trying to keep his overwhelming panic from out of his voice.

"D-D-Dean?" Sam's muted, disbelieving voice came from inside. "D-Dean … is th-that you?"

"Yeah buddy," Dean sighed, relieved that at least his younger brother was here and hadn't been taken by whatever the hell had happened here tonight. "It's me. Now, why don't you open this door for me okay?"

"I – I … I can't." Came the hesitant reply. "I … you … you're not su-supose to be … why – why are you b-b-back? I-it's to … you're not supposed to be … b-back yet."

Dean frowned at the barely suppressed fear that he could hear within his brother's voice, noticing that he was one step away from breaking down completely as he tried to stifle his sobs. "Okay Sam, enough games. Either you open this door or I'm kicking it in."

"N-n-no! D-don't come in! P-p-please Dee … don't w-w-want you to see …"

And that, right there, hearing his strong, independent brother revert back to calling him Dee as he would when he was a scared and frightened child, made Dean's choice an easy one. Without any hesitation, Dean quickly kicked the bathroom door open and stepped inside before flicking on the light.

Dean blinked in the blinding glare of the light, needed a few seconds for his eyes to refocus and get used to the light. Dean let out an audible gasp of horror when he was finally able to see the state his kid was in.

Sam was scrunched into a tight ball, his hands handcuffed around the hand-basins pipe – which explained the kid's hunched position – his face streaked with tears, bruises and blood, his hair – Dean swallowed hard, surprised at the instant sting of tears within his eyes at the sight of his brother's hair – half of his hair had been shaved, his fringe completely gone as those expressive, haunted hazel eyes stared at him, his bottom lip trembling violently, fighting to get his emotions under control.

"Jesus Sammy," Dean breathed, taking an automatic step toward his brother. "What the fuck – " Dean stopped his advance when he noticed his little brother cringe away from him, his head ducking down behind the basin, out of Dean's line of sight as he drew his knees up toward his chin, trying to squeeze himself into as tight of a ball as possible, trying to make himself as small … invisible …

"Sammy …"

"Nooo …" Sam moaned, rocking himself, trying to deny Dean's existence. "You're-you're not s-supo-supposed to be here!" He wailed miserable. "Don't want you … to see me … De'n … go away!" He yelled, glaring up at Dean with those huge expressive hazel eyes that Dean had always been able to read. "Leave me alone!"

"Sorry, can't do that kiddo," Dean denied easily, being sure to keep his tone as soothing and even as possible, because it wasn't anger that he could see within his kid's eyes; it was terror. "You wanna tell me what happened here?"

Dean's eyes slid from his brother's face, automatically searching for other injuries that his brother may have – not that he could see much because of the protective foetal position his brother was in – but what Dean could see … it made his blood turn both icy cold and red hot with dread and rage at the same time.

Sam was wearing a white undershirt – which was stained with blood now – his upper arms had bruises – if Dean had to guess he'd say it looked like _handprints_ – his neck and jaw-line littered with red swollen skin and possibly … were those hickeys? Dean's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat at that horrifying thought.

But it was what Dean spied next which made his green eyes darken and narrow with such an intense rage that Dean could feel himself literally shaking with anger. His brother's pants were down around Sam's knees and Dean could see a small patch of blood where Sam was sitting. Some fuck-head had dared to _touch_ his baby brother?!

"D-Dean … please go away," Sam pleaded, his eyes impossibly large as he noticed his older brother's anger. "Please, don't – don't look at me,"

Sam's desolate, defeated tone instantly snapped Dean out of his rage induced fury, his features softening as he squatted down beside Sam and instantly reached for his brother.

"Ssh, it's okay Sammy," he murmured softly as he placed a gentle hand upon his brother's shoulder. "I'm here now little brother. Everything's going to be okay … I promise,"

"No!" Sam screeched, trying to shake Dean's hand off of his shoulder, almost as if he had been scolded by burning hot flames. "Don't touch me! Don't fucking touch me!"

Dean instantly removed his hand from Sam's shoulder and held his hands out in front of him in a non-aggressive manner. "It's okay Sammy, I'm not going to hurt you." Dean said softly, soothingly, his heart breaking at the sudden distrustful look within his brother's eyes, aware that Sam's breathing had kicked up a notch – fast and shallow – gasping as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs.

"Sam – Sammy … you have to calm down buddy. Deep breaths okay champ? In and out … see, just copy me … in and out. That's it short stuff," Dean encouraged him, pleased when Sam's breathing returned to normal, offering his traumatized little brother a reassuring smile. "Right; how bout we get those handcuffs removed, aye buddy?"

Dean watched Sam eye him warily for a few seconds before he gave Dean a slight nod, giving Dean permission to go ahead.

Slowly, Dean removed the lock-pick set from his inner-jacket pocket and set to work on unlocking the cuffs that bound his brother to the sink, making sure that his actions were slow and deliberate so as not to spook his little brother any more than he already was.

Dean removed the handcuffs, gently holding his brother's hands within his own – even though he felt Sam's urge to pull away and withdraw from him – inspecting the damage to his younger brother's wrists. Dean waited for several seconds until he felt Sam relax slightly beside him before he gently fingered the red, puffy, torn skin around his brother's wrists.

Sam froze at his brother's touch, his hazel eyes going wide with panic. "You shouldn't … t-touch me Dee …" he whispered, trying to pull his hands from his brother's gentle grip. "I – I don't want you to … get hurt."

"That's stupid Sammy," Dean scoffed lightly. "As if _you_ could _hurt_ me!"

Dean was pleased when Sam shot him an exasperated look – not quite the bitch face he was used to, but it was close enough to make Dean relax a little further – and shook his head. "I didn't say that _I_ would you. I don't want you to get hurt because of _me_." Sam explained, his voice soft, reluctant and scared for his big brother's safety.

"As if I would get hurt because of you. And besides … nothing can hurt your awesome big brother … right?" Dean slipped down beside his brother and nudged his shoulder in a gentle, teasing manner.

Sam's lips trembled in an attempt to smile, but that just made the kid look even more vulnerable than before as he let out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry Dean," he whispered, wrapping his arms around his knees, tucking his head in between his knees. "This is all … it's my fault,"

Dean frowned at Sam's reluctant admission, knowing that Sam couldn't have made all of that mess in the living room. There's no way that this scrawny kid could have overturned all of the furniture and caused all of that damage by himself in the few hours that Dean had been gone.

"It's … it's never been this bad before,"

Dean froze at his brother's words. Before? What the hell? This had happened _before_? "Sammy? You wanna tell me what happened? And who the hell did this to you?"

"No." Sam replied stubbornly.

Dean tried not to sigh with impatience at his brother's obstinate behaviour. He had to be patient. If he wanted to get Sam to talk to him, he had to be calm, soothing, patient and not rash, or not wanting to rip some bastards lungs out as he did right now!

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to uphold the appearance of calm and reassuring – at least for his kid brother's sake – as his mind slowly began to turn over everything that he had seen and heard since entering the apartment.

Dad! Where the hell was Dad? And why hadn't he been here to protect Sammy when all of this had gone down?

"Sam … was Dad here when all of this went down?" Dean frowned when he felt Sam's body shake beside him. "Sam?" He asked, concerned now as he heard his little brother begin to sob. "Sammy! Where was Dad?" Dean demanded, an icy cold finger of dread beginning to worm its way into his heart. "Answer me!"

Sam jumped at his brother's frustrated tone, his sobs beginning to increase, his body shaking both with fear and shock. "D-Dad w-wa-was here," Sam finally stuttered out, not daring to look at his brother right now as he pulled his knees closer toward him, ignoring the pain he could feel in his …

Dad was _here_ when all of this went down? What the … Did that mean that someone had taken their Dad? Or was he hurt somewhere? Because Dean _knew_ that their Dad wouldn't let anyone hurt Sammy without a fight!

Dean was startled at his brother's cry of dismay and alarm as Sam's head shot up, his eyes bulging out in terror, glancing at Dean, tears within his hazel eyes, begging Dean to help him as he made anguished, distressed noises, moaning deep within his throat.

"Sammy, what?" Dean was in front of his brother in a flash, his frustration and anger gone in the face of his little brother's panicked distress. "What's wrong little buddy? Talk to me,"

Dean noticed Sam's gaze drop to his legs and then back up to Dean, his tortured wails tearing at Dean's heart as Sammy begged him for help. It didn't take Dean long to realise what had upset his little brother so much. "Sammy, it's okay," Dean assured him, placing gentle hands on either side of his brother's head, behind the ears, keeping Sam's eyes at his own level. "Sammy … what do you want me to do man? On or off?"

"I don't know!" Sam wailed, nearly hitting full-blown panic in ten seconds flat. "Get 'em off of me! Get 'em off! Off! Ugh … God Dee … HELP ME!" He screamed, looking as if he was going to bolt at any second.

Dean pulled Sam against him, wrapping him in his strong, soothing, protective embrace, holding on, even when Sam fought to get free of him.

"It's okay Sam," Dean told his brother, his heart clenched in pain at his brother's anguish. "I'm here Sammy … Everything's going to be okay now, I promise … Calm down little brother … you're safe, I promise … " Dean kept repeating the same words over and over until finally Sam's struggles began to ease, and his screaming began to taper off into quiet sobs as he desperately clung to his brother's jacket.

"D-Dean … P-please …"

"Okay Sammy," Dean soothed, pulling back a little so that he could look his brother in the eyes. "How bout we get you in the shower huh? Get you all cleaned up, okay?" He offered his brother a reassuring smile, pleased when Sam nodded his consent to Dean's plan, relaxing slightly with his big brother's arms.

Dean was relatively relieved to see that most of his brother's injuries were basically superficial, requiring no need for stitches or a hospital visit, except, maybe …

Dean bit his lip worriedly as his gaze moved down the length of his brother's body, remembering this hiss and cry of pain Sam had uttered when Dean had sat his brother down upon the toilet seat, wrapped up in two towels – one around his waist and the other around his shoulders – examining Sam's injury's more closely with a critical eye.

Sam was covered in bruises, but no gaping wounds – thank God – nothing that appeared life-threatening at least. Although, that did nothing to ease Dean's rage and fury at some fucker who had come in here and put their hands all over his baby brother, their handprints leaving bruises upon his brother's flesh, hickeys upon his neck and …

Dean closed his eyes briefly, trying to reign in his anger, knowing that he had to get to the bottom of what had occurred here tonight; the fear that someone had … taken his kid's innocence was a very real and terrifying thought within Dean's mind right now. No matter what, he had to know what had happened to Sammy, not only so that he could have someone to pummel later, but also so that he would be able to take care of his brother properly once all of the shock had worn off.

Dean helped Sam dress into an old hooded shirt and his baggy sweat-pants that Sam wore when he wanted to feel comfortable and safe. "Okay Sammy," Dean said as he gently ran his hand through his brother's messed up – patchy – hair, seeing Sam flinch at his touch, tears immediately springing into his brother's hazel eyes. "Think you can tell me what happened now little bro?" He urged, his tone soft, soothing, but also stern; his no-more-bullshit-tell-me-the-truth tone.

Sam bit his bottom lip, chewing upon it worriedly, lowering his gaze to his hands, not sure how to answer his big brother's question. What the hell had happened tonight? Sam squeezed his eyes shut, clutching the fabric of his sweats into his hands, his body tensing up before he felt his brother's hands fall down upon his own and Sam felt some of the tension leave him.

"You said that Dad was here when this … happened?" Dean prodded his brother gently.

Sam nodded wordlessly, wanting nothing more than to crawl into his big brother's embrace and pretend that this night had never happened but … Sam was too old to be cuddled and coddled by his brother and Sam knew that Dean would never let this go until he learned the truth. Maybe Sam didn't have to tell him _everything_ that happened. Maybe Sam could tell Dean just enough to satisfy his big brother instincts and gloss over the rest like it was no big deal.

"Dad was … here …" Sam reluctantly admitted, meeting his brother's gaze for a moment before looking away again. "I think … I think there's something wrong with me Dee. I think I may be … cursed."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean Sammy?" he asked quietly, instantly wanting to tell his brother he was wrong and that there was no way Dean would _ever_ allow anyone to curse his baby brother; but he held his tongue, instinctively knowing that if he was going to understand at least a _little_ of what had transpired tonight, then he had to let his brother tell it in his own way.

Sam shrugged, still avoiding his brother's eyes, but was instantly warmed by the strong reassuring squeeze that Dean gave his hand. "Mum … and the way that she died …" Sam met his brother's deep green eyes, noticing that Dean tried not to show the surprise he felt when Sam mentioned their mother. "The demon was there for me that night Dean," Sam said softly.

"No," Dean shook his head violently, almost as if he could deny the truth with just his words alone. "Sam, no. We don't know that!"

"Mum died trying to protect me Dean," Sam insisted, giving his brother a knowing look. "That's the truth of the matter. Plain and simple. Mum di-died trying to protect me. And I'll _never_ be able to make that right for you Dean."

Sam's haunted guilt-ridden hazel eyes tore at Dean's heart-strings, even when he was trying to deny Sam's words. Dean couldn't stand to see his kid looking at him like that. He couldn't stand to see the raw emotional pain that was reflected within his hazel eyes.

"Sam –" Dean began, trying to think of something to say that would take that look from his brother's eyes before Sam interrupted with a soft shake of his head.

"That night … my _curse_ caused Mum's death. Tonight … " Sam chewed upon his bottom lip worriedly, instinctively pulling his hands from his brother's gentle grip, going to run his fingers through his hair before he remembered what had happened and he couldn't help the tears that started to stream down his checks or the sobs that were wracking his body.

"I – I'm s-s-sorry Dee … I'm s-so s-s-sorry. It's all m-m-my fault. Everything. And you – you … you're not … you're _never_ b-b-back th-this early! You w-were n-n-n-never supposed to _see_! Never supposed t-to know!"

Dean felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach at his brother's words as a horrible realisation began to dawn on him. (Oh God, please don't let that be true!) "What does that mean Sammy?" Dean finally choked out. " _Who_ did this to you?"

And when Sam's haunted, tortured hazel eyes met Dean's; Dean _knew_ the answer to his question without his brother having to utter a word. He _knew_ what sick fuck had come in here and did this to his baby brother but …

"It was-wasn't his f-f-fault Dee … I … He thought I was Mum … And the hair but … P-ple-please De'n, d-d-don't b-be mad, okay? I-it was _my_ fault, not his."

Dean placed a comforting, soothing hand at the back of his brother's neck and squeezed gently, reassuringly, struggling not to drown in the horror of his little brother's words. Dean gently pulled Sam's head toward his own until their foreheads were touching, while keeping up a constant pressure at the back of his brother's neck.

"This is _not_ your fault Sammy, okay? Mum didn't die because of you. It was that son of a bitch demon who killed Mum. It's his damn fault Sammy, not yours … okay?" Dean pulled back a little so that he could look Sam in the eyes, so that his brother could see the truth and sincerity within his green eyes. "There is _nothing_ wrong with you, and you're _not_ cursed. And if you ever talk about yourself like that again, I'm gonna kick your ass … understand?"

Dean was rewarded with a trembling smile and a slight nod from his younger brother, noticing that Sam's eyes were beginning to droop in exhaustion.

"Okay little brother, let's get you up and out of this bathroom and into a nice comfortable bed," Dean stood to his feet and with strong but gentle hands, pulled his little brother into his arms, supporting him as they emerged from the bathroom and moved down the corridor to Dean's room.

Dean sat beside his now sleeping little brother, running a hand through Sam's ruined hair, waiting for Sam to fall into a deep, undisturbed sleep.

He felt … numb.

After a lot of wheedling, pleading, coaxing and finally threatening declarations from Dean, Sam had finally revealed the truth of what had occurred here tonight.

Dean had been stunned into a horrified kind of silence as his baby brother reluctantly admitted to what had transpired while Dean had been out, wanting to distance himself from his father's and brother's destructive cycle on this dreaded anniversary day (God, now he felt like an idiot for being so damn selfish. If he had _been_ here then Sammy wouldn't have had to suffer through this all alone. Or not at all).

Dean was fuming by the time that Sam had finished revealing the events of the past few hours. Sam never once told Dean outright or officially named the person who had participated in hurting his baby brother – but Dean already knew who it was without his brother's verbal confirmation – and he _knew_ that Sam had left out a lot of the details – obviously wanting to spare his brother the horror of the God's honest truth – but Dean had known that it had been far worse than Sam had let on by the kid's twitchy movements, his uncomfortable blushing and the damn haunted, traumatized look within his kid's massively huge puppy-dog hazel eyes.

Dean's anger had built to an all-time new high at his brother's revelations (horror, disgust and guilt making in appearances as well) but Dean didn't once doubt that Sammy was telling him the truth. As much as it would have been easier for Dean to have dismissed his brother's words, blaming it on his over-active imagination or he misunderstood the situation or that he was lying through his teeth just to get attention; Dean _knew_ that what his brother spoke of was the truth.

Dean knew everything about his kid; knew when he was happy, excited, scared, lonely, sad … knew when his subtle body language would inform Dean that he was uncomfortable, hurting … or hiding things from his big brother. His kid could never lie to him, no matter how much he tried.

"Sshh … you're okay Sammy, I'm here," Dean softly soothed his brother when Sam began to stir restlessly. "You're safe now little brother. He's not going to hurt you anymore, not while I'm around … I promise." Dean tightened his hold about his younger brother protectively, his expression hardening into grim determination as he waited for the asshole who had done this to his kid to return home so that Dean could exchange a few … not so pleasant words – possibly even throw in a few punches for good measure – with his poor excuse of a _father_ before he took Sammy and left his ass behind forever.

Dad.

Of all of the people in the world, Dean had never thought he would have to protect Sammy from their father. Dean had always believed that John had loved his sons and would _die_ to protect them. Now Dean knew the truth. He knew that his baby brother had had to put up with John's drunken, abusive behaviour on this anniversary of Mary's death for … Dean shuddered. He didn't even want to think how long his _Dad_ had been blaming Sammy for their mother's death; or how many years this had been happening.

But all of that stopped now!

Dean had vowed to protect and look after this kid ever since he had run out the burning house at four-years old, carrying his six-month old brother in his arms, and if that meant he had to protect Sammy from their _father_ … then, that's exactly what Dean would do. Nobody hurt his kid and got away with it … not even the great John fucking Winchester!

"Don't worry Sammy, you and me are going to be just fine by ourselves," Dean reassured his sleeping little brother. "Dad will never hurt you again. I promise."

 **THE END?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** AU Dean has to protect Sam from a lot of people and evil supernatural things. He never thought he'd have to protect Sammy from one of the most trusted people in their lives.

 **WARNING:** Abuse of a minor, implied sexual abuse, swearing, Dark Themes.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters, nor am I making any profit from this at all.

 **Note:** Although prompted by my reviewers, I honestly couldn't leave Dean and Sam hanging like that. So, here's a second chapter … with a third on the way.

 **Special Thanks:** To **Guest** and **Mimmi85** for your kind reviews. Hope this chapter is to your liking. Thanks to everyone who is following and has read or viewed this story. Your appreciation means a lot.

 **CHAPTER TWO**

Dean glanced over at Sam, who was held protectively within his arms, one hand curled tightly around Dean's shirt, his other hand underneath the pillow, scooting as close as he could to Dean, wanting the love, comfort and support that only Dean could provide for him, his young face smoothed out, free from the worry, haunted-lines that had previously marred his expression – too many adult emotions on his kid's face for Dean's liking – but now his young features were free from those emotions as Sam slumbered in restful, undisturbed sleep.

Finally!

It had taken Dean talking non-stop in a calm, soothing, soft tone, whispering words of comfort and reassurances as well as the two pain meds that Dean had practically had to force down the kid's throat before Sam had finally stopped wriggling and squirming around so much that his eyelids became heavy and droopy, finally succumbing to the sleep that his brother so desperately needed.

Dean blew out an irritated sigh. Damn his kid was stubborn! Too damn worried about everyone else to even take notice of his own needs and wants. "Damn Sammy, when are you going to learn to take better care of yourself, huh?"

Sam mumbled something unintelligible, his features twisting into a childish pout and Dean could barely detect the breathy last word that his brother muttered "…jerk."

"Yeah, right back at you … bitch." Dean smirked fondly as he affectionately tousled his brother's hair. It wasn't until Dean began to run his fingers through Sam's hair, feeling the unevenness of the hair that Dean recalled the shambles that now remained of his younger brother's hair and Dean had to swallow back the lump of emotion, the sting of tears that memory brought back.

Dean's hand trembled slightly as he fought down his conflicting emotions, everything rushing back to him in sudden tsunami waves, threatening to drown him in the overload of emotions and memories.

Damn, what the hell did he do now?

Having arrived back at the apartment to find his baby brother locked in the bathroom, handcuffed to the basin's pipe, bruises littering his too skinny, pale young body, his hair shaved off in patches, half-naked, staring up at Dean with wide, haunted hazel eyes had sent Dean's big brother protective instincts into overdrive.

He'd had little time to really _think_ about the circumstances surrounding his brother's current condition, too concerned with caring for and treating an obviously beaten and traumatized little brother.

Now that Dean knew that Sammy was in no immediate danger – not dying or bleeding out anyway – and was sleeping as soundly as he could – mainly because of the pain meds Dean had given him – Dean's brain finally had a chance to catch up on recent events as he began to ponder over everything he had seen and learned that night.

The repercussions from this would be _huge_!

Dean sighed loudly, running a hand over his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. Of course, it was plainly obvious of what Dean's long-term plan would be. The two of them were definitely leaving. There was no doubt in Dean's mind about that. He would take Sam as far away as he possibly could; settle down somewhere; find a job; Sam could go to school and just be a regular kid for once. But the only big problem to those plans becoming a reality was …

Dad.

John would be pissed that Dean had basically run away with his little brother. He would eventually track them down and either force the both of them to return to his side or … take Sam away from Dean.

Dean's eyes narrowed to slits as he tightened his hold about his baby brother protectively. No one was taking Sammy from him! Dean would kill anybody who tried … even _if_ that someone turned out to be their Dad; the great John Winchester.

No. The only way to avoid that particular scenario was to confront the issue before it became a problem; which meant that Dean would have to confront the old man _before_ he took Sam and left Dad's sorry ass behind forever.

But …

Dean's eyes shifted over to his sleeping brother, knowing that Sam couldn't be here to witness the confrontation between older son and father. The kid already felt bad enough as it was, let alone witnessing the – most likely – violent altercation between his older brother and father. That guilt would eat his kid up from the inside out!

No. Sam most definitely shouldn't be here to see that. This meant that Dean had to make arrangements for his brother's safety and well-being. Someone he trusted would have to come by and get Sam before their father arrived back.

Dean couldn't help but snort at that. Trust. Yeah, right … like he had _trusted_ his _Dad_ to keep Sammy safe from harm when _he_ was the one who had turned around and had the audacity to lay his God damn hands all over his kid!

The one person who Dean had counted on and trusted – besides himself – to take care of and look after Sammy, had violated the unflappable, consistent, unwavering loyalty and faith that Dean had bestowed upon the man. In just one night, John had managed to stomp and trample upon every sacred vow, pledge and promise that Dean had ever believed in.

Dean's free hand clenched into a fist, his teeth grinding together in anger as Dean easily recalled the shame and guilt reflecting within his brother's too expressive hazel eyes, scared because Dean had come home earlier than expected and had caught Sam in a compromising position; not being able to cover up the fact that there was nothing wrong in the first place … or that their father was the one responsible for putting him in the position to begin with.

Hiding; covering up the truth; protecting Dad; protecting Dean; lying to Dean about the few unexplained bruises that Dean would sometimes discover upon his baby brother's body; so that Dean would never discover the horrifying truth of what was really happening; all so their family could carry on and live happily ever fucking after!

Dean was _never_ supposed to know, never supposed to _see_ the crap that Dad had done to his little brother. Blaming Sammy; making him feel responsible for Mum's death; making Sammy _doubt_ himself … Dad had done this … all of this … to Dean's little brother … to his own fucking son!

And where the hell had _he_ been while his brother was being terrorized and beaten by their father? Off with some … _chick_ … pouting because _he_ didn't want to deal with his Dad's drunken behaviour or his little brother's moody, sullen mood-swings.

God … he was such a fucking idiot! He should have been _here_ , damn it! He should never have left and made Sam face this by himself; alone; with no back-up or support what so ever. What the hell kind of crap big brother was he anyway?!

How the hell had he not _known_ what was happening? How had he not realised that Sammy was _lying_ to him? Normally Dean could _tell_ – with just one fucking look – when Sam was evading the truth or flat out lying to him. But this time …

Dean shook his head disgustedly, a low growl of annoyance deep within his throat, furious with himself for not realising what was happening sooner, for not being here when his brother had needed his the most. If he could, he'd beat his own damn ass for having failed the one person he'd vowed, sworn to protect; his Sammy; his baby brother; his kid.

Almost as if he could sense his brother's dark self-incriminating thoughts, Sam shifted slightly in his sleep, a frown appearing upon his face, immediately snapping Dean out of his destructive feelings of guilt and remorse. "Ssh, you're okay Sammy," Dean soothed his brother. "You're safe, I promise."

"Dee …" Sam breathed and Dean could hear the concern within his little brother's voice. "… you 'kay … Dee?"

Dean chuckled softly. "Yeah baby brother, I'm good," he assured his sleeping little brother who sometimes talked in his sleep. "Go back to sleep little dude, everything's fine, okay?"

"'Kay," Sam murmured, the frown lines disappearing from his features, his breathing evening out, indicating that he was sleeping deeply once more.

Damn, this kid never ceased to amaze him! With just a few simple words, Sam had managed to snap Dean out of his dark, self-destructive emotions, making him focus upon the present. Dean smiled down fondly at Sam, gently giving his brother's shoulder a light squeeze. "Okay, I get the message Sammy. More important things to worry about right now … right?"

Thanks to Sam snapping his out of his depressing, dark state, Dean's scattered, disorganized thoughts began to rearrange themselves into coherent thoughts once more now that he had a specific plan to follow.

After carefully extracting himself out from under Sammy and making sure that he was resting comfortably, Dean slipped from the room, pulling the door shut – just enough to offer privacy, but also to be able to hear if Sam became restless and needed him – behind him as he quickly make a call to a hunter close by who Dean trusted with this delicate situation to take care of his brother until Dean could retrieve him. Caleb would be arriving here within the hour, which meant that Dean needed to at least pack up his little brother's things before Caleb got here.

After peaking in on Sam once more, Dean moved across the hall and opened up his brother's bedroom door, which was right across from Dean's room. It was rare that the brothers got their own rooms, but Dad hadn't been planning on sticking around too long, planning to drive out in the morning to the next town over to work on a hunt that he had picked up a week earlier. They were only supposed to here until Dad had finished the hunt and then they were all moving on (two weeks max).

Damn! They'd only been in this town for half a day and Dean already hated the sight of it. The sooner he got the both of them out of here; the better off Dean would feel.

After everything Dean had seen and learned today, he honestly didn't think he could be shocked by anything else … but, he was proved wrong – once again – when he entered Sam's room and saw the state that it was in. Dean's eyes widened, a gasp of surprise escaping him as he stared around the room, his jaw hanging open.

Trashed. Just like the living room. Clumps of Sam's hair were scattered throughout the room, a discarded electric razor laying upon the floor, bits of hair and flecks of blood within the razor's blades; furniture overturned in the corner of the room – almost like it was some kind of barricade – was enough to make Dean feel queasy, imagining the epic struggle that had gone on in here between the youngest Winchester and Dad.

It wasn't until Dean's eyes fell upon his brother's bed that he almost lost everything in his stomach, his eyes impossibly wide, stunned, rooted to the spot as he tried to make sense of the scene before him.

" _Sonuvabitch_!" Dean hissed, his eyes flicking from one item to the next, his brain trying to figure out the disturbing scene before him.

Rumpled sheets; blood splatters upon the bottom sheet along with … Oh God, was that? Dean swallowed hard, ripping his eyes away from the remains of some guy's excited pleasure.

Handcuffs were littered to each of the four bed-posts and Dean could only assume that _Dad_ had handcuffed; shackled; spread-eagled his brother … his _baby_ brother to the bed and … Dean turned his head away, almost gagging now at the mental images of his kid trapped, handcuffed to the bed while _Dad_ put his fucking hands all over him and …

What the _fuck_ was that?

Dean's eyes fell upon the discarded object upon the ground at the foot of his brother's bed. Dean squatted own, his eyes squinting as he tried to identify the foreign, yet familiar object. It almost looked like a … Dean drew in a sharp breath as realisation dawned upon him. Was that a fucking _sex toy_?!

Dean's eyes narrowed, his jaw clamped shut, his teeth clenched, grinding against each other in sudden furious rage, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hand as he fought to get his emotions – horror, shock, confusion, rage, guilt, betrayal – under some semblance of control.

"God damn it!" Dean cursed, aiming a fist into the wall behind him. "That God damn piece of _SHIT_!" Dean couldn't help but yell as he continued to pound upon the wall with his fists.

That was it! That son of a bitch was a dead man! How _dare_ he do this to his kid? What the fuck was _he_ thinking?

Dean's vision tunnelled down to just the wall as he repeatedly struck it with his fists, releasing all of the horror, anguish, rage and fear that he had been feeling ever since walking back into the apartment earlier tonight. Nothing else mattered except hitting that wall as Dean found himself zoning out with rage, tears in his eyes, choking back on his broken sobs.

The next thing Dean became consciously aware of was a feeling of warmth and comfort, embraced in familiar arms, the sound of his brother's voice whispered soothingly in his ear and the sound of choked up anguished sobs.

It took Dean a few moments to realise that _he_ was the one producing the sobs, tears running freely down his checks, clutching at the back of his brother's shirt in desperation, almost afraid the kid would disappear on him at any moment.

"Oh God, I'm so fucking _sorry_ Sammy," Dean wailed brokenly, hardly recognizing the voice as his own as he fought to reign in his overwhelming emotions. "You … you shouldn't have been _hurt_ like this. Sorry Sammy, I'm sorry I wasn't here to protect you. Sorry … so sorry …"

"It's okay Dean," Sam said softly, trying to remain strong for his big brother, but Dean could detect the slight crack within his voice, which meant that the kid was almost at the point of breaking down himself.

"I'm okay Dean; I promise … This isn't _your_ fault. You have nothing to be sorry for. I … I'm the one who should be apologizing. I'm the one who's sorry,"

Hearing the guilt within his brother's voice, Dean locked down his emotions once more, his posture changing in an instant to Dean Winchester – big brother mode – wiping a hand over his face to get rid of any stray tears, releasing his desperate hold upon his brother as he gently pulled back from Sam enough so that he could look at his brother, raising an eyebrow quizzically. "Sorry? What the hell have you got to be sorry for kid?"

Sam couldn't help but wince at the gruffness within his brother's voice, avoiding his brother's gaze, his head hanging low, remorsefully, knowing that _he_ was the one responsible for his big brother's emotional break-down.

Normally Sam would have had time before Dean got home to tidy up the signs of struggle and violence so that Dean would _never_ know that anything had happened. But this time … everything was messed up. It had been worse … _much_ worse than the other times.

"Sammy," Dean interrupted Sam's musings, his tone lowering, concerned about the slightly shaking shoulders of his little brother. "What the hell have you got to be sorry for kid?" He persisted gently.

Sam kept his head lowered, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, bitting upon his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, struggling to keep his _stupid_ tears at bay because this … was all his fault!

Dean was _never_ supposed to know; never supposed to find out; never have to make the ultimate choice between him or … Dad. And it wasn't as if it happened all of time; just this one time of the year, on the anniversary of his mother's death. The rest of the year … he acted like his _real Dad_ and Sam could pretend and ignore the once a year verbal and physical beating because … it was only _once a year_. But now … even though Sam hadn't verbally confirmed that Dad was the one who had done this to him, Sam _knew_ that Dean had been able to figure out the truth fairly quickly without Sam even having to _say_ anything.

Damn, sometimes he wished his brother couldn't read him so well! And now … now everything was so _fucked_ up that Sam didn't even _know_ where to begin with his apologises.

He was sorry. Sorry he didn't have a chance to clean up; sorry that Dean had to find out like this (or at all); sorry that he was such a disappointment, a failure, a _bad_ son and brother; sorry that he was tainted and cursed.

"Sammy, that's not true …"

Sorry for causing the death of their mother; sorry that Dad had seemingly _snapped_ , causing his to see things and do … things … maybe Dad _was_ right. Maybe Sam _had_ cursed him or infected him somehow, and that's why this time was so much more different.

"No Sam, listen to me kid, please …"

And if Dad was right about that … then maybe … he was right about all of the other things he'd said as well; Dean being disappointed in him, _despising_ him because Sam had caused Mum's death; and now …now that Dean _knew_ … would he kick Sam to the curb, dump his sorry ass on the side of the road as Dean took off and never looked back? Would Dean abandon him and take off with their father, leaving him behind … forever?

"That is _never_ going to happen little brother! It's you and me against the world … remember?"

Dad was right. He'd been right about everything, all of this time … it would have been better if he'd _never_ been _born_!

"Sam, that's enough! Stop it, right now!"

Sam blinked, surprised to find that Dean had him by the shoulders and was shaking him. Sam couldn't help but notice the tears within his brother's green eyes, his tone fill of desperate pleading.

"Are you back with me now, little brother?" Dean asked, his voice low, husky with emotion, watching as Sammy's eyes cleared of the despair and haunted quality his eyes had previously been displaying, a touch of confusion entering them now.

"What do you mean Dean? I didn't go anywhere." Sam replied in puzzlement.

"Jesus Sammy, don't fucking _say_ that, all right?" Dean quickly pulled his baby brother into his arms and held him tightly, struggling to keep his voice from cracking. "What you just said … all of it … it's crap, you understand?"

Sam was even more perplexed than before, becoming increasingly worried about his brother's words and actions. Oh God, had he finally driven his big brother crazy?

"Dean …" Sam began slowly, carefully. "I didn't _say_ anything. I mean, I was thinking a lot of stuff but …"

"Yeah, out loud dude," Dean chuckled dryly.

"What?"

"You may have thought you were just _thinking_ it Sammy, but you said all of that out loud little man," Dean felt Sam freeze up in his arms. "It's okay little brother," Dean quickly reassured the teen. "I've got you now, okay?"

Sam swallowed hard, feeling his checks redden with embarrassment and guilt. He'd just said all of that _out loud_? Dean _heard_ all of that? Damn it! What the hell was his problem?

"It's not your fault Sammy," Dean replied soothingly. "You can't help but spill all of your secrets when you're sick or hurt. Sorry, but that's just the way you're wired little bro,"

"Damn! I said that out loud too, didn't I?" Sam said, suddenly disgusted with himself.

"Hey," Dean pulled away to cup his brother's face in his hands when he felt Sam stiffening up beside him, his body tense, almost as if he was getting ready to run. "You need to chill little man." Dean told him softly, but sternly. "You have _nothing_ to be _ashamed_ of, you hear me? _None_ of this is your fault Sammy. And if I have to keep repeating that to you daily until it finally sinks into that thick skull of yours then, that's what I'll do.

Sammy … hey, look at me," Dean ducked down to meet his brother's eyes, seeing the fear and confusion deep within his eyes. "You are _not_ a failure, disappointment or a bad brother. You are too smart to fail at anything! Disappoint me? Never. I am so damn proud of you Sammy. And you _wish_ you were bad!" Dean scoffed lightly, teasingly. "Dude, c'mon, you're a girl scout compared to how I was at your age!"

Dean was pleased to notice the scowl leave his brother's face, a slight smile upon his lips at Dean's comment. "And didn't we already cover that it was the son of a bitch _demon_ that caused Mum's death, not you? What did I tell you I would do if you ever said you were tainted or cursed again, huh?" Dean raised his eyebrows in mock exasperation.

Sam's smile widened more as he mumbled his reply.

"Sorry Sammy, I didn't quite catch that,"

"You said you would kick my ass." Sam repeated a little louder.

"Damn straight," Dean agreed with a firm nod of his head. "I'll give you a freebie this time round … but there better not be a next time, understand?"

"Yeah Dean, I got it."

"Good." Dean nodded, satisfied that Sam seemed to register Dean's words, giving his brother a soft squeeze on the back of his neck reassuringly, knowing that it was going to take some time to rebuild his kid's self-confidence, but Dean was determined to give that back to his brother … no matter how long it took. Nothing was more important to him than the young man standing before him and Dean vowed to never let _anyone_ put their hands upon his kid brother ever again!

"Hey little man," Dean said softly, trying to get his brother's attention when he noticed that Sam's eyes kept returning to the bed, a horrified, distant look upon his young face.

Sam swallowed hard, swinging his gaze back to Dean, tiling his head slightly, questioningly.

Dean moved closer to Sam, making sure to keep his tone light and even. "Why don't you help me out here?"

Sam licked his dry lips, considering Dean's words. "You … want me to clean up?" He asked quietly, his gaze flicking toward the bed once more before turning back to Dean.

"No!" Dean said a little more sharply than he intended to, seeing Sam flinch at his tone. "No Sammy, I can do that." Dean replied, lowering his voice a notch. "Why don't you get your stuff together for me?"

Sam frowned. "Are we going somewhere Dean?" He inquired as he dutifully grabbed a bag and started to put his belongings into it.

Dean spun around and continued to pick up the overturned furniture within the small room, knowing that being in this room was bound to bring back some unpleasant memories for his brother, but not quite willing to let Sam out of his sights just yet. His younger brother's fluctuating mood-swings had him worried, concerned about what Sam might do if left alone or having too much time to dwell upon his own damn thoughts!

No. Dean decided that the best thing he could do for Sam was to keep him so close so that Dean could keep a careful eye upon him. "Not _we_ Sam, just you,"

"What?"

Dean was too distracted to notice the slight hitch within his brother's voice, his mind preoccupied and whirling with the preparations he would need to make in the near future. "Yeah. Thought you might want to get out of here, considering … well, you know," Dean replied in an off-hand manner.

"Okay," Sam replied quietly, trying to keep his voice even, his heart beginning to beat wildly in his chest as he watched Dean pick up and put the furniture back where it belonged in an almost cavalier, nonchalant way. Was this it? Was Dean sending him away because …

Sam swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that were building within his eyes, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands so hard that he drew blood, trying to control the tremors that were coursing through him.

"I called Caleb," Dean continued absently. "He should be here soon, and then you can get out of this hell hole,"

Sam closed his eyes, trying to control his hitching breathing, Dean's words falling down upon him, hitting him harder than he thought they would.

Of course, he'd always considered that when Dean found out the truth about all of this that Dean wouldn't want to be around him anymore. This was his biggest fear coming to life. Dean abandoning him. Finally, Sam had pushed his brother too far, and by the sounds of it, Dean had chosen to stay with Dad.

Sam gritted his teeth together; his heart clenched painfully, the feeling of abandonment and loss filling him. And really, Sam couldn't blame Dean for this decision. Sam _was_ an embarrassment to the Winchester name. It was probably for the best that Sam left now before he caused his big brother any more grief and heartache. Dean could continue to hunt with Dad, happy because he wouldn't have to constantly worry or look after his pain in the ass little brother anymore.

Sam swallowed down the lump within his throat, a determination he didn't quite feel coming over him. If this is what his big brother had decided was best for him, then Sam wouldn't complain, moan or whine about his decision. After everything Dean had done for him, Sam decided not to make this any harder on Dean. He would take it like a man and just disappear from his brother's life forever.

Dean had made his choice. And as much as it broke Sam's heart, really, how had he expected a different outcome? Dean and Dad loved hunting, while Sam didn't particularly want the lifestyle of a hunter. He was different than his father and brother. It was only natural that Dean would chose to go with Dad. It was the logical choice really. And Sam would be all right. He _could_ make his own way in the world.

Sam tried hard to convince himself as he felt his eyes straying to his brother's back. It would just be a lot harder and a lot less fun without his big brother by his side.

Sam stifled a sob as he spun around, stuffing his clothes into the bag, ignoring the shaking of his hands, trying to reign in his emotions so that he could leave here with at least a _little_ dignity intact. He was _not_ a little kid anymore. He could do this. He _would_ make it work. Dean would be _proud_ of him eventually. And when he was … maybe then, Sam would come back into his brother's life. Maybe then his big brother could finally accept him as his little brother once more.

Sam angrily brushed his stupid girly tears aside as he finished putting the last of his belongings in his bag. Stupid! He'd been so stupid to think that Dean would _ever_ want Sam to stick around! God, _he_ was the one who should have died in that fire, not Mum!

Choking back on his emotions, knowing that if he didn't get out of here soon, he was going to start blubbering like a baby, Sam threw his bag over his shoulder, steadying his voice as much as he could. "All of the things are packed from here Dean. I need to grab my laptop from the living room and toothbrush from the bathroom."

"Okay little brother," Dean said, waving at Sam distractedly, his back still presented to his brother.

Sam paused by the doorway, eyeing his brother thoughtfully. "For what it's worth, I understand okay Dean? I'm sorry I can't be the little brother you deserve …" The slight crack in Sam's voice reminded him that his emotions were too close to the surface right now and the dam was close to breaking. "I … love you Dee," Sam whispered, spinning around and practically sprinting into the living room where he finally collapsed and gave into his overwhelming emotions, knowing that his life was never going to be the same again.

Dean's head snapped up, his big brother instincts blaring within him, catching the last of his brother's words. Dean saw the tears shimmering within his little brother's wide hazel eyes, which were filled with pain and desperation. His lower lip trembled violently, hands clenched at his sides, his shoulders shaking as Sam fought to repress the tears that were so close to the surface now, a sad smile wobbling upon his lips before Sam spun around and practically _ran_ from the room as if he were being chased by the damn devil himself.

"Sammy!" Dean called out in alarm, his heart thudding wildly in his chest as Sam ignored his command to come back.

What the hell?!

Dean stood to his full height, frowning, perplexed about what had caused this abrupt change within his little brother. Sammy had seemed _fine_ while he was packing his things. Quiet and withdrawn, but that was to be expected after everything he had experienced tonight. What the hell had caused this violent reaction within his normally grounded kid brother?

Dean struggled to recall if anything over the last ten minutes could be attributed to his brother's sudden mood-swing. The only thing he could recall was Sam going unusually quiet when he'd mentioned that Caleb was coming to pick him up soon. But why the hell would –

"Sonuvabitch!" Dean hissed, his eyes widening as understanding suddenly hit him. Sammy, in his distressed and overly emotional state of mind _thought_ that Dean was sending him away. "Fuck!" Dean swore softly, frustrated with himself for not explaining himself better. He had to fix this before Sam got any other stupid ideas in that stubborn head of his.

Dean found Sam in the living room, on the floor, curled in on himself, sobbing his big heart out, his whole body shaking with effort as he tried to keep his sobs silent and to himself. Dean froze, the sting of tears rising unbidden within his eyes as he took in the state of his baby brother, his heart clenching in sympathy and pain.

Without becoming consciously aware of it, Dean found himself kneeing beside his brother, his arms wrapped around him, choking back on his own sobs as he tried to comfort his obviously very upset and distressed little brother.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean pleaded, almost near tears himself now, hating to see his kid so damn upset. "Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong. How can I help if you won't tell me what's wrong. Despite how awesome I am as a big brother, mind reading is _not_ part of the gig." Dean's dry chuckle sounded suspiciously like a sob.

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly when his light teasing elicited no response from his baby brother at all. "It's okay Sammy," Dean said softly, rubbing soothing circles upon his brother's back, knowing from experience that when Sam got into this extreme emotional state, nothing could reach him until he had calmed down. All Dean could do was to offer support until this kid calmed down enough for Dean to talk some sense into him, repeating words of assurances to his brokenly sobbing little brother.

Dean was so focused, so engrossed with providing the emotional support that Sammy needed at the moment that the sound of the apartment door opening, barely registered in his mind.

It wasn't until he heard his kid _whimper_ that Dean's head shot up, his hold instinctively tightening around his brother's shoulders, his green eyes looking upon the surprised dark eyes of John Winchester.

"Dad," Dean growled, a dangerous smile crossing his lips. "It's about damn time you got back here! I think there are some things you and I need to _talk_ about."

 **TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** AU Dean has to protect Sam from a lot of people and evil supernatural things. He never thought he'd have to protect Sammy from one of the most trusted people in their lives.

 **WARNING:** Abuse of a minor, implied sexual abuse, swearing, Dark Themes.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters, nor am I making any profit from this at all.

 **Special Thanks:** To **Mimmi85** for your kind review. Hope this chapter is to your liking. Thanks to everyone who is following and has read or viewed this story. Your appreciation means a lot. Hope you enjoy this next instalment of the story.

 **CHAPTER THREE**

Dean raised himself into a crouch, balancing on the balls of his feet, his body tensed as he intentionally pushed Sam behind him, keeping a hand upon the trembling teen's knee to keep him calm, reassuring him that he was not alone this time as he eyed John Winchester warily, watching for any subtle movement that would explain the older man's next move.

Dean's natural instinct was to confront the threat and danger head-on; dispatching it as quickly as possible, but being face to face with this particular foe – his own father – Dean knew he had to show caution and patience. After all, this man before him had taught him everything he knew. And as much as Dean would have loved nothing better than to slam John Winchester up against the wall, hand to his throat, smacking the shit out of him for what he had done to Sammy, Dean knew that such a reckless move would be suicidal at best, knowing that the man could get out of such a hold because at the moment, Dean was fuelled by rage and not thinking clearly.

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly, never taking his eyes off of his father, consciously aware of his little brother behind him, gasping for air, becoming panicked at the sight of John towering over them, his dark eyes wide with surprise, confusion and … was that _fear_ Dean detected in his eyes?

The two older Winchesters were frozen, each of them assessing the other one, the only sounds within the apartment was Sam's panicked gasps as he fought to control his breathing as older brother and father had a staring contest with each other; a battle of wills. Dean knew that this stalemate couldn't last for too much longer because Sam was fast approaching being thrown into a full-blown panic attack. He had to get the kid to calm down; and soon.

"D-Dee …" Sam's frightened whisper immediately tugged at Dean's big brother protective instincts.

Dean squeezed his brother's knee in gentle reassurance and support. Hang on kid. Calm down; deep breaths. You're fine, everything's fine. Just let me deal with the old man and then we can get out of here, okay?

Dean was relieved that Sam seemed to get his non-verbal message when the kid's breathing began to even out, feeling his brother squeeze back once upon his hand before letting go; letting Dean know that he was okay now, apologising for his mini freak-out.

God Dean loved his kid. Here he was, faced with the person who had terrorized and beaten him; leaving him handcuffed in the bathroom to rot and he was putting his fear aside to concentrate on the current situation, acting like a true professional. Dean was so damn proud of him.

"Sammy, are you okay?" John Winchester's sharp voice echoed through the quietness of the apartment, taking a step toward his youngest son.

Dean heard Sam's strangled cry of alarm and Dean shot to his feet, deliberately standing in front of his brother, cutting off the line of sight between John Winchester and his youngest son. "Don't," Dean warned his father. "Don't you take one more damn step toward him you son of a bitch," Dean's eyes narrowed to slits, letting his father _see_ just how serious he was. "Or I _will_ shoot you where you stand." Dean tapped his gun against the side of his upper thigh, directing his father's gaze toward him and off of Sam.

John's eyes widened, confused by his oldest son's display of anger and aggression toward him. John frowned slightly as Dean's words began to register within his mind, tilting his head to the side. "Are you _threatening_ me son?" He asked, not sure if he should feel proud or offended by his son's actions.

"Nope." Dean smirked darkly. "Just a little friendly warning is all."

John chuckled dryly, trying to keep his quick surge of anger under control for the moment, knowing that Dean would follow through on his "friendly warning" if John so much as twitched wrong! Frantically, John tried to think of any reason _why_ Dean was acting like this (treating him as if he was the _enemy_ ) but John honestly couldn't think of any reason for Dean's sudden aggression toward him. "Do you want to tell me what this is all about Dean?" John queried; keeping his tone low and even as his eyes swept the apartment's living room with a practiced eye.

"Yeah, as if you don't know!" Dean scoffed loudly, watching his father out of suspicious eyes, watching for any slight movement that might indicate if his Dad intended to rush them or attack them, not intimidated or confused by his father's fake act of being surprised, pretending to be ignorant of what had transpired here tonight.

Any other person might have fallen for John's act, but through the confused act; passed the anger at having been challenged by his own son; Dean could see a … _shiftiness_ … nervousness within his father's eyes. And if Dad was nervous, that meant he was hiding something. Something he didn't want Dean to know.

"Actually son, I really don't know," John replied, starting to become concerned now that he noticed the appearance of the living room. Obviously some sort of _violent_ struggle had happened in here. A brief frown appeared upon John's brow as he tried to recall how drunk he had been while taking his frustrations out on his youngest before he had left to go to the bar earlier that night. It hadn't been _this_ bad … John was confident of that. He had left the apartment – and Sam – in relatively good condition – maybe a slap or a punch here or there – but nothing like this!

Swallowing down the sudden fear that had jumped into his heart, John ran an appraising eye over his oldest son, breathing a sigh of relief when he noticed no visible injuries on his boy, his feeling of guilt and fear dissipating. John would never forgive himself if he had left his boys open and prone to attack while he hadn't been here to protect them. What would Mary think if he had failed his boys like that? At least Dean seemed to be unharmed. But if his oldest was in extreme protective mode … that would mean that Sammy apparently hadn't gotten away unscathed … or he had told Dean what John had been doing every year for the past five years.

John's heart leapt in apprehension at that thought, a dark disgust brewing within John's eyes as he took a slight step to the right; holding his hands out in front of him in an non-aggressive manner when he saw Dean raising his gun, so that John could get a glimpse of his traitorous youngest son. Sam stood behind Dean, his complexion pale, shaking slightly, quickly averting his gaze with an audible gulp when John turned to glare at him darkly.

"Hey!" Dean snapped, his green eyes flashing dangerously as he shifted to the left, once again blocking his father's line of sight to Sam, seeing the array of emotions pass over his Dad's expression, his eyes fixated upon Sam's hair, his mouth hanging open in shocked surprise. "Eyes on me old man. You _look_ at him again and I'll rip your fucking eyes out!"

John's jaw twitched in anger, becoming extremely frustrated at his son's constant _threats_ ; attacking him for no good reason at all. But if Sammy had told Dean the truth, then John was actually quite surprised by how calmly Dean was taking it. If Dean _knew_ the truth then John was sure Dean wouldn't be threatening so much as _doing_. So, maybe this was about something else after all. But with Dean acting like a damn angry grizzly bear protecting their young, John knew it would be next to impossible to get his oldest to back down and let John through his defences ... unless John could make him see reason.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, John morphed his expression into one of complete innocence. "Okay Dean, how bout we stop playing this game of charades and you tell me what it is you _think_ I've done?" John said shortly, his patience wearing thin, meeting his son's challenging gaze evenly.

"Oh, I don't know _Dad_ ; how about how you _trashed_ this entire apartment while putting your God damned hands all over my little brother?!" Dean retorted vehemently.

The absolute look of horror and disbelief upon John's face would have been comical and might had made Dean doubt his convictions that his father was indeed responsible for this, if not for the angry, sharp look that he shot Sam and the incriminating look within his eyes.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Dean saw his brother quickly lower his head, but not before Dean caught the anxious look upon his kid's suddenly too pale face. "What did I just _say_?" Dean growled low in his throat warningly, instinctively taking a step toward his father, barely managing to control himself from flying forward and cracking his Dad in the face.

"What?" John gasped as Dean's words sank in, appalled that his son would think that he would _ever_ do something like that. "Dean, _I_ didn't do this." He stated calmly, recognising the subtle signs of his oldest son beginning to lose his temper now. He had to placate Dean now before things got more out of hand than they already were.

"Tell that to someone who really _believes_ you _Dad_." Dean shot back bitterly, not believing this whole innocent crap that John was trying to sell them. Although, if Dean were being completely honest with himself … John seemed truly sincere right now.

"I did not do this Dean," John repeated, looking his oldest straight in the eyes so that Dean would know he was telling the truth, saying each word slowly and deliberately.

A brief flash of uncertainty crossed with Dean's green eyes and John decided to press his advantage. "Look son," he began in a low, calm voice, trying to keep the frustration out of his tone. "I left here an hour after you did to discuss the hunt with Martin, talking strategy and game plan before we leave in the morning. When I left, the apartment definitely didn't _look_ like this. Dean, son, I didn't _do_ this … I swear,"

John was immensely relieved to see a look of confusion and doubt within his oldest son's eyes and John knew that he was half-way there to convincing Dean that he was telling the truth. Now he just had to play his last hand and they could all put this little misunderstanding behind them and find out who was _really_ responsible for doing this. "Sammy, tell him," John implored, keeping his eyes on Dean least he get Dean riled up again.

"That is true," Sam admitted quietly, seeing John's triumph look and Dean's disappointed, confused look. "But then you came back," Sam stepped up beside Dean, frowning at his father worriedly. "Dad … you don't remember that?" He asked, hope suddenly flaring within him. Maybe there was an explanation for all of this after all. Maybe it hadn't been his Dad who had tied him to the bed and … done what he'd done; chased him around the apartment with the electric razor, threatening to cut off his offending hair that had reminded him so much of his beloved late wife's; securing him to the bathroom while he screamed that Sam had _cursed_ him, _infected_ him somehow and how he had to protect Dean from Sam's _poisonous_ mind. "I wish you'd never been born!" Sam could hear John's vicious snarl, fill of hate as he flicked the lock on the bathroom door and slammed it shut behind him.

"Dad, don't you _remember_ what happened?" Sam stared at his father, pleading with him, hoping that this had all been a crazy mix-up. Maybe a shape-shifter had taken Dad's appearance or he was possessed by a ghost … or a demon. There could be a hundred other explanations that could _explain_ this. "Dad, please tell me you didn't _do_ this."

"Sammy, I didn't do this," John repeated for a fourth time, his gaze open and honest, smiling gently at the immediate look of belief, loyalty and love reflected within his youngest hazel eyes.

Sam smiled in relief, believing his Dad one hundred percent. He hadn't done this. Thank God. John held out his arms in an invitation to gather his baby boy into his arms, but as Sam moved toward him, Dean held out an arm to halt his brother's progress, giving Sam a sharp shake of his head, indicating that he didn't think it was safe yet.

"Dean!" John snapped, beyond frustrated now as he looked into wild, suspicious green eyes. "You still don't believe me, do you?" He huffed, agitated now. "What do I have to do to _prove_ to you that I didn't do this?"

"Dean?" Sam questioned his older brother in a low voice, concerned with the look upon his brother's face. If Dad said he didn't do it, he didn't do it. So why was Dean acting so cautiously, suspiciously toward him? If there was anyone who believed John's every word, it was Dean. So why, when Sam believed their father, Dean didn't?

Damn, his kid was too damn trusting for his own good, ready to forgive and forget at a drop of a hat. Dean had to admit that he was almost ready to give his father the benefit of the doubt after his award winning performance of acting so innocent; almost ready to believe his Dad's lies and chalk this all up to … what? A slight misunderstanding? But, at the last moment, just as Sam was moving to embrace their father in a hug, Dean had caught something within his father's eyes that he didn't like; images of how he had discovered his baby brother, slammed into his mind, his instincts – both as a hunter and a big brother – screaming at him that something wasn't right. Wrong. It was all wrong.

Without even stopping to think about it, Dean halted Sam's progress to Dad, keeping his little brother safely by his side until he could figure out exactly _why_ his instincts were telling him to be so cautious and not believe a word that John was saying.

"Say behind me Sammy," Dean ordered softly, shooting his brother a warning look before Sam could even think about arguing with him on this one and was relieved when his brother just simply nodded in compliance. "Why don't you tell me _exactly_ what happened here then Dad?" Dean asked, seeing a bewildered look come upon his father's face.

"How the hell would _I_ know Dean?" John shot back, becoming sick and tired of this _stupid_ game his son insisted on playing with him. "I already told you I didn't do it. I wasn't here, remember?"

Dean shrugged, not intimidated by the glare his father gave him or the suddenly more irritated tone within the man's voice. "What's your best guess? Because Sammy told me that _you_ did this." Dean said evenly, ignoring the bitch-face his younger brother gave him because Sam had definitely _not_ told Dean that John was responsible for this. "So if it really wasn't you … then explain to me _why_ Sam said it was you."

John paused, frowning in thought before an obvious answer occurred to him almost immediately. Something that wasn't him but looked like him … "Shape-shifter," he said confidently, smiling in victory.

Dean considered his Dad's explanation before he shook his head. "There's no activity of a shifter being in the area." Dean replied, easily dismissing his father's explanation. "Plus, Sammy could easily tell if it was a shifter or not considering that he always keeps his silver blade on him. When I found Sam, he didn't have the blade on him. If it was a shifter, it wouldn't have been able to remove the blade."

"Sam mustn't have had the blade on him tonight then," John shot back as Dean turned to give his brother a quizzical look.

Sam's newly found optimism and belief in his father suddenly began to dissipate, his eyes wide as he vividly recalled his father taking the knife off of him when he'd handcuffed Sam to the bed. His skin hadn't _burned_ like it would have if John had been a shape-shifter. "No, I had it on me," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Dad … took it off … touched it … nothing happened."

"He's _lying_!" John roared, starting to become anxious now, feeling himself backed into a corner.

"Excuse me?" Dean raised his eyebrows, shooting John a death glare. "Did you just call my brother a liar?"

John swallowed hard, trying to control the sudden fear and anger that was surging within him. "No! Well yes, but … look, there has to be a _reasonable_ explanation for this. Possession."

Dean chuckled dryly at that suggestion. "Sam _knows_ how to check for possession. Hell, _you_ taught him all the right words to say that could easily have sent your sorry ass to hell."

"Plus I threw a whole bunch of salt on you in the kitchen while you were chasing me around the apartment." Sam added. "Nothing happened,"

John noticed Dean scowl darkly at his little brother's words and John could feel the noose tightening around his own neck. "Wait … Dean," John cautioned his son. "Maybe … Sam invited some friends over when I left."

"What?"

"Yeah, you know how teenage boys are son? A little too much to drink, things got a little out of hand and they end up trashing the place and … Sammy just _imagined_ seeing me here." John stated weakly.

"Imagined?!" Dean said incredulously.

"Yes, too much to drink … seeing things that aren't there … hallucinations. You know what those are, right Dean?" John finished off, conviction within his voice, eyeing Dean sternly.

Dean exchanged a look with his brother and almost burst out laughing at his brother's slack-jawed, stunned expression before he met his father's eyes, his barely controlled anger rising another couple of notches. "That's weak Dad. Sammy's not drunk. And to be honest, that sounds more like something _I_ would do."

John threw his hands up in the air, totally exasperated now. "Well, I don't know what to tell you Dean, but _I didn't do this_! So why don't we stop playing these stupid guessing games and actually figure out what happened here, together?"

John started toward his sons in an attempt to bridge the gap between them, and to hopefully make Dean see reason by physical contact. Four steps in and John stopped dead in his tracks as Dean pointed his gun toward him, his green eyes grim and fill of determination.

"That's close enough Dad," Dean said, not flinching under his father's dark menacing scowl.

"Really Dean?" John said sarcastically. "You're gonna shoot your own _father_?"

Dean gave his father a cocky smile. "Not if you stay put, I won't. But any closer and … I can't make any guarantees."

"Dean! Enough!" John snapped, through with _playing_ this particular game with his _boy_! For God's sake, Dean was acting as if John was suddenly going to turn feral and attack them both where they stood. "Put your damn gun down! I am not the enemy!"

"Yeah, I'm not so sure about that," Dean muttered darkly, feeling an insistent tugging on the sleeve of his jacket. "What Sammy?" Dean demanded frustration plainly evident in his tone.

"Dean!" Sam hissed urgently. "It's _Dad_!"

Dean couldn't help but roll his eyes at that comment. "You're stating the obvious here Sammy," Dean replied sarcastically, keeping his eyes upon the old man.

Heaving out a huff of annoyance, Sam pulled on Dean's arm, spinning Dean around to face him and would have laughed at the surprised, shocked look upon his brother's face if the circumstances weren't so dire. Seeing the suborn, determined look within his older brother's eyes, Sam knew that Dean would shoot their father without the slightest hesitation if he thought that man was a threat. But Sam couldn't allow Dean to do that. Not for him. Dean idolized the man, worshipped the ground Dad walked on. He would _never_ forgive himself if he had to shoot John Winchester (never mind what would happen if Dean actually _killed_ him!).

So Sam _knew_ what his next course of action would be. He couldn't – wouldn't – be responsible for shattering the special bond that Dean and Dad shared. He couldn't stand by and watch his brother be eaten up by the guilt of having to make the ultimate choice between him or Dad. So Sam decided to take himself out of the equation. And as much as this was going to hurt him – because honestly, he couldn't stand the thought of his big brother mad or disappointed in him – Sam knew that this was what he had to do.

With a quick, fearful glance at his father, praying that his Dad wouldn't tear his hide out for this, Sam returned his gaze to Dean, standing up straighter, trying to keep his normally expressive hazel eyes clear – because Sam had _never_ been good at trying to lie to Dean – remembering to pitch his voice at the right amount of guilt and reluctance that he used when having to tell Dean something he didn't want his older brother to know, as Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, silently begging Dean to forgive him for what he was about to do.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, bitting upon his lower lip, lowering his gaze a moment before he returned them to his brother's puzzled look. "I … I lied. It … it wasn't D-Dad's fault. He didn't do this, I did."

There was a stunned silence by both older hunters as two pairs of eyes stared at Sam and Sam couldn't help but squirm uncomfortably at the unwanted attention.

"Really?" Dean said in such a way that Sam knew that Dean didn't believe it for a second. "You did all of this by yourself?"

"No. I had … I had some help." Sam quietly admitted, unconsciously grasping his hands together, swallowing back his tears and fears as he proceeded to tell Dean this lie. "I didn't want to … There was this girl and she wanted to spend some time with me … if you know what I mean," Sam blushed furiously at his brother's penetrating gaze. "So, after Dad left I … she came over and things got a little out of hand …"

Dean raised an eyebrow sceptically. "You and a _girl_ did all of this damage? Yeah, nice try Sammy, but I don't think so."

Sensing that Sam was losing this battle to convince Dean of this lie, he grabbed hold of his brother's arm, his grip desperate as he pleaded with his brother to believe him. "I didn't _know_ that she would bring others. Things spiralled out of control and … before I realised it … it was a _scam_ Dean. They left me … where you found me. And I … I couldn't _tell_ you because … I should have _known_ better. I didn't want you to … I didn't want you to be mad with me and so I … " Sam shot another glance toward his father, seeing the look of gratitude within his dark eyes along with the anger he should be feeling at his son's admission for Dean's benefit. "I let you think that Dad was here. I even let you think that _Dad_ was responsible. So, all of this … it's my fault, okay?" Sam finished off in a rush, the feelings of guilt and remorse not having to be forced because Sam truly _did_ feel guilty and remorseful.

It had been _his_ fault that Dad had snapped; his fault that Dad had had no other choice than to lock him up, to protect Dean from his cursed and tainted self; his fault that Mum had died; his fault that Dean had started to lose faith in Dad; his fault that the two of them were almost on the verge of a fight; his fault … _everything was his fault_.

Sam chewed at his bottom lip and he could feel the tears welling within his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "Sorry that I … li-lied about all of this. I should have just _told_ you the truth but …" Sam bowed his head, his whole body shaking with emotion as he refused to meet his older brother's eyes. He didn't want to see the shame; the anger; the regret; the disappointment that he _knew_ would by reflected within his big brother's eyes. He just wanted this whole thing to be _over_. He wanted Dean and Dad to stay together and hunt … because they were damn good at their jobs – saving people and killing evil things – and they deserved to share that special bond that Sam and his father had never had.

Sam would go when Caleb arrived. Leave Dad, Dean, the hunting life behind forever. And as much as that would hurt – who was he kidding? It was going to _destroy_ him! – Sam knew, in his heart, that this was the right decision to make. He couldn't be around Dad anymore. And Dad … well, it was obvious that Dad couldn't be around him either (if the last five years were anything to go by). Dean would be okay, because … well, Dean was Dean and he was _always_ okay. This was the best solution for everyone.

Dean stared down at his younger brother's bowed head, not sure if he should laugh at the obviously ludicrous _lie_ that Sam had been trying to sell him or be pissed at the fact that Sam was trying to protect him once again when Sam knew damn well that it was _his_ job to protect Sam. Older brothers protected the younger brothers, not the other way around.

Dean had to give his kid points for tying. But Sam had never been able to lie to him – unless Dean was too distracted by something else (namely a hunt) or he wasn't expecting his brother having to lie in the first place – and whenever Sam tried, he'd always give off little _tells_ that let Dean know that Sam wasn't being as truthful with him as he would like. Dean had been able to spot the tells a mile away; the clenching and twisting of his hands, the subtle looks with Dad, the way his eyes shifted endlessly as if not sure what to focus on, this incessant bitting upon his lower lip. Sam had shown all of these tells and more, so Dean _knew_ that his brother was lying through his teeth. But why? Why would Sammy feel the need to lie about something like this, embarrassing himself and his credibility? Was it so he could protect Dad? Dean shook his head. No there was more to it than that.

Seeing his baby brother's display of submissive behaviour, Dean felt his anger leave him as he drew his surprised brother in for a one armed hug, still fully aware of where his father was as he quickly soothed the anxious teen. "Nice try Sammy," he whispered in the teen's ear. "But I don't believe that BS story for a second." Dean felt Sam tense in his embrace and just tightened his hold to keep his brother in place. "I get it Sammy; you don't want me and Dad to fight, right?"

"You and Dad _fight_ all the time during your sparring sessions." Sam snorted, rolling his eyes in typical Sammy fashion. "What I want is for you to _not_ shoot Dad for no reason."

Dean couldn't help but chuckled at Sam's words. "Fair enough," he replied gently, his gaze suddenly hardening when his father started to creep closer toward them. "But there would be a reason you know. A damned good reason."

Sam shook his head adamantly. "No reason is good enough to shoot Dad!" He declared strongly and it didn't take Dean long to read in between Sam's unspoken words: _I'm_ not a good enough reason.

"Damn it Sammy!" Dean growled, hating this kid's low self-opinion that he had of himself. " _You_ are the best reason there is! You are _worth_ it Sam." Dean's eyes automatically focused upon John's hands when he reached out a tentative hand, encouraging Dean to let go of his gun, and Dean felt his breath catch when he caught sight of the state of his father's knuckles; skinned torn and bloody, as if he had repeatedly hit someone. Dean knew that if he were to check the bruises upon the kid's body, they would show the exact pattern of those knuckles that were now displayed for Dean to see. "And I will rip the lungs out of any son of a bitch who puts their hands on my baby brother!" Dean promised lowly, giving Sam a quick reassuring squeeze before letting go of his brother and turning to face his Dad once more.

"You get into a spot of trouble tonight Dad?" Dean asked casually, indicating his father's scrapped, bloody hands while Dean eyed his father critically from head to toe, his eyes narrowing with darkness when he saw the unmistakable signs of blood upon his father's clothes and … were those _scratch_ marks upon his father's neck?

"Wha-what?" John stammered, confused by the hostile look he could see within Dean's green eyes once more. "Dean, I thought we'd settled this." John couldn't help but groan. "Sammy _explained_ what happened."

Upon closer inspection, Dean could see a faint blood trail from his father's nostrils, his nose slightly swollen and the beginnings of two very nasty black eyes. Dean felt a surge of pride go through him. Sammy obviously hadn't gone down without a fight!

This was why Dean's instincts had been screaming at him earlier, warning him to be cautious, warning him that all was not as it had appeared to be with John Winchester. Something indeed was _very_ wrong here. And Dean was determined to get to the bottom of it.

John almost took a step back at Dean's sharp warning look, but decided to stand his ground. He'd had enough of being given the third degree, of the distrustful, lippy, disrespectful attitude and tone that his oldest son had been addressing him with. He'd had enough of being viciously _attacked_ and the insidious implications that Dean was accusing him of doing. Enough was enough. Time to take back the control of this situation; get his boys back in line … and if he had to knock some sense into his oldest boy to do that, then that's what he would do.

John squared his shoulders, his dark eyes flashing with anger, his expression grim and determined, letting Dean know that the time for games was over; now John Winchester was getting serious and he was pissed!

"Dean, this nonsense is stopping right now! I've put up with your blatant disrespect, your continual _attacking_ me and accusing me for things I _told_ you I didn't do. I am appalled to think that you would even _think_ that I could _ever_ hurt Sammy. Wasn't I the one who always told you to look after Sammy; to keep him safe; that he comes first; always? And now you think I would turn around and deliberately _hurt_ him?

Dean, he's my son. How can you honestly believe that I would ever hurt him?" John paused and both siblings could see the hurt shimmering within John's dark eyes. "I would do _anything_ to protect you boys. I have always done the best that I could and what I thought was right by you boys, to protect you, to keep you safe. Always. That has been my main objective; to keep you boys _safe_. And you think that I would …"

John choked up on his emotions, pleased to see that both boys were looking somewhat chastened by his reprimanding words, although there was still too much fire and resentment in Dean's green eyes for John's liking. He needed to nip this little rebellion of his oldest in the butt now, before he became just like Sammy and refused to listen to his orders any longer, questioning every little thing that he did. John sighed heavily. "Now, I'm willing to let this go Dean, forget that any of this happened. Let's just put this little … misunderstanding behind us and move on, okay?"

"Misunderstanding?" Dean muttered sarcastically. "Yeah, right,"

"Dean!" John growled. "Enough! I didn't want this to get anymore ugly than it already is, but you leave me no choice. Whatever _Sam_ told you I did – John's eyes flicked toward his youngest, who at least had the decency to avert his eyes, shifting from one foot to the other nervously, fear shinning within his hazel eyes – is complete and utter crap. Sam _lies_ Dean."

Dean tensed at his father's words. No body called his brother a liar … not even his Dad!

"He just admitted that he lied not more than five minutes ago and you're still willing to believe his word over mine?!"

Damn straight!

"I honestly … I can't _believe_ that you would consider _any_ of this a possibility! God Dean, it's not like I get drunk every night and beat the shit out of him!"

Dean gritted his teeth together, trying to keep his rising anger under control as he noticed his baby brother tensing suspiciously beside him, his face going an off shade of white, looking as if he was going to keel over at any second. Oh God, what else was this kid keeping from him?

"Once a year, I may have a few too many drinks, a few too many memories; invading me, making me a little crazy and … there he is. Standing there, always questioning me, always doubting me, picking on my every order, acting so damn self-righteous and above us all, not realising the sacrifice that his very life cost him. Look at what that sacrifice cost _us_ dean!"

John started to furiously pace in front of his boys, his hands waving about erratically, mirroring the turbulent and explosive emotions that … God help him … he couldn't help but _feel_ about his youngest son. "The _demon_ wasn't there for Mary Dean, it wanted Sam. Why? I don't know, but whatever the reason … it can't be good. A demon doesn't come for just _anyone_ and especially … especially not a _baby_!"

John's eyes widened with horror, an almost hysterical quality coming into his voice now as he pleaded with his oldest son to _believe_ him; to see things from his point of view. "Dean, it's not safe for us. We shouldn't … we don't know what exactly happened that night. What if the demon _did_ something to Sam … infected him somehow?"

John whirled his eyes upon Sam who shrunk back under his father's hate filled, paranoid gaze. "Dean, we have to _stop_ this before it's too late, before Sam kills us just like he killed your mother." John pulled out his gun and aimed it at his youngest son's chest. "I'm sorry son, but this is the only way to protect your brother,"

John cocked the hammer, his finger on the trigger, Sam's eyes blown wide with fear, whimpering sounds escaping him as John took one final look at his youngest son's face, a small, bittersweet smile crossing his lips. "Forgive me," he whispered, tears in his dark eyes as his finger pressed down upon the trigger and the last thing he heard was the sound of his gun going off before the darkness rushed up to embrace him.

 **TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary:** AU Dean has to protect Sam from a lot of people and evil supernatural things. He never thought he'd have to protect Sammy from one of the most trusted people in their lives.

 **WARNING:** Abuse of a minor, implied sexual abuse, swearing, Dark Themes.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters, nor am I making any profit from this at all.

 **Special Thanks:** To **Mimmi85** for your kind review. Hope this chapter is to your liking. Thanks to everyone who is following and has read or viewed this story. Your appreciation means a lot. Hope you enjoy this next instalment of the story.

 **Note:** This was honestly supposed to be the last chapter, but it just kept growing and growing and because I didn't want to rush the ending, there should be one more chapter after this one.

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

Everything moves in slow motion once Dad pulls out the gun and points it at his baby brother's chest. Dean can see Sammy's eyes nearly bulging out of his sockets, panic and fear within his hazel eyes as he opens and closes his mouth, looking almost comical – like a gold fish out of water – harsh, whimpering sounds finally escape his brother, wordlessly pleading with their Dad not to do this.

Dean hears Dad cocking back the hammer, his heart pounding within his ears – Oh God, Dad was serious! He was going to _shoot_ Sammy – and then Dean _knows_ that there's not enough time for him to prevent this from happening.

Oh God!

"Dad! Stop!" Dean hears himself shout, but it's muffled and distorted, the horror at the whole _craziness_ of this situation – Dad's going to shoot Sammy! Oh God! There's not enough time! Not enough time! – as Dean tries to process the sheer _madness_ of the events unfolding before his eyes.

"Dad, stop this! Please!" Dean can hear himself pleading, _begging_ ; his father's finger on the trigger now, his dark eyes no longer wavering or hesitating – Oh shit, he was really going to do it! – as Sam exchanges one last look with Dean before the inevitable happens. And it's Sam's expression – horror, pain, confusion, guilt, love, forgiveness and finally … acceptance – that _finally_ kicks Dean into action.

No! Not going to let Sammy die! No way in hell that's going to happen on his watch!

Deadly calm and focus takes over Dean, his heart beating in time with his breaths as his world narrows down to just this moment. Don't miss, he tells himself. You can't miss or Sammy's dead!

Dean steadies his shaking hand, concentrating so hard that he can feel a tension headache flare to life behind his eyes, readjusting his aim as he takes a deep breath in, eyes fluttering closed as he offers up a quick prayer to – hell, Dean doesn't really care! As long as it is someone who can help him save his brother – as Dean slowly depresses his trigger, eyes wide open, hearing the sound of his gun going off in his ears as John's raised arm falls to his side, a look of shock and confusion on the older hunter's face as Dean quickly rushes forward and slams a fist into his father's face, watching as John's eyes roll into the back of his head and he falls to the ground, knocked out cold.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam fall to the ground – Oh god, was Sammy hit? Did Dad get off a shot before Dean could incapacitate him? Was Sammy _dying_? – and Dean's heart stops cold, not able to draw breath as he whirls around to face his brother.

And then, just like that, everything speeds up and Dean finds himself running – _sprinting_ – to his younger brother's side, falling to his knees as he's reaching for his brother … his kid!

"Sammy," Dean gasped, his voice choking up with fear, his eyes quickly assessing his baby brother from head to toe. "Sammy … Sammy!" Dean both pleads and demands as he gently rolls his brother onto his back, large, horrified – dead looking – hazel eyes are staring back at him.

Oh God no! Please, not my kid!

Sam blinked and Dean's whole universe kicks back on-line. Alive. His kid was still alive! "Sam," Dean cried out hoarsely, swallowing back his fear as his heart began to settle at a normal level. "Are you okay? Are you _hit_?"

Sam stares at him uncomprehendingly for long seconds before he wordlessly shook his head, his hazel eyes devoid of any clear understanding.

"Are you sure?" Dean demanded, panic making his tone harsher than he intended, hands automatically patting down the length of his brother's body, eyes frantically searching for the bullet wound he was more than convinced would be there.

Sam licked his lips, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. Hearing the frantic, barking, _terrified_ tone of his big brother immediately snapped Sam out of his daze as he reached over and grasped his brother's shaking wrist. "No Dean, I'm okay." He said. "I'm not shot. I'm fine."

"Then why did you fall down?" Dean challenged, knowing how _crazy_ he sounded, but he couldn't help himself. This kid had scared the shit out of him, so sue him if he was acting just a tad like an overprotective, paranoid parent.

Sam frowned slightly and offered his brother a lop-sided grin. "Because you _pushed_ me to the ground … you big jerk!"

Dean stared at the teen doubtfully for a few seconds before Sam's words sunk into his mind and Dean can't help but return his brother's grin with a cocky smirk of his own. "Yeah, well, someone has to save your ass … bitch!" Dean shot back teasingly, offering his attempt of an apology to his younger brother.

Sam pushed himself up onto his elbows, his eyes falling upon the motionless body of John Winchester. "Shit Dean," Sam's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "Did you just _shoot Dad_?"

Dean followed his brother's gaze. "He didn't really give me a lot of options Sam." He retorted, feeling slightly sick now that the whole event had ended. "He was going to shoot you!" Dean defended himself weakly, trying to convince himself that his actions were justified more than defending himself against Sam.

"Yeah, I know," Sam agreed; and there was no contempt or accusation within his little brother's tone, only conviction and belief in his older brother that Dean had done the right thing. "Did you … is he _dead_?" Sam asked softly.

"Nah," Dean shook his head, helping his brother to his feet. "Just a shoulder hit Sammy. He'll live … unfortunately," Dean growled the last work under his breath.

"Then why isn't he moving?"

Dean grinned and lightly punched his brother on the arm. "That's cause I knocked him out." Dean said and he couldn't help the sense of satisfaction that rolled through him at having been able to _punch_ his father for all that Sammy had endured at his hands. Of course, Dean wouldn't be satisfied with just a single _punch_. There would no doubt be more punches later, along with some scathing words from Dean.

"Dean, that … that wasn't Dad." Sam turned to Dean, his wide eyes burning with tears as the full realisation of what had just occurred finally began to hit him. "Dad doesn't talk like that Dean. He _never_ expresses himself or explains himself. He just barks orders at us and expects us to obey him. Dad would never willingly discuss his _feelings_ like that."

Dean frowned. The kid had a point. Dad hadn't exactly been _acting_ like himself. It was … weird. And the feeling of wrongness Dean had had ever since he had seen his father standing in the doorway, returned with a vengeance.

"Maybe … do you think …" Sam's breath hitched in his throat. "Did _I_ do this?"

"No Sammy," Dean denied immediately, barely suppressing a groan. Of _course_ Sam would try to blame himself for this! Damn Dad for filling his baby brother's head with all of this rubbish! "None of this is your fault." Dean placed a hand behind the back of his little brother's neck and squeezed gently, reassuringly. "Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this, okay Sammy? I promise." Dean's eyes cut over to the prone, unmoving form of his father and beneath all of the anger and betrayal he felt for the man, there was also mild concern and worry because maybe … just maybe he was wrong and there _was_ something supernaturally wrong with their father.

"C'mon Sammy, we've got to move … now!" Dean urged, hearing the distinct sounds of sirens in the background. They had to be out of here before the cops arrived. Every trace of them having been here, had to disappear, along with the three of them. The last thing any of them needed was to be way laid by – good intentions or not – the local police.

Thankfully most of their belongings were already packed and ready to go. Dean just had to gather the handcuffs – all five sets of them – and anything else that may imply that a horrendous crime may have occurred here tonight. The soiled sheets from his brother's bed were shoved into a bag to be burned later, along with any other incriminating evidence that may lead the police investigation in their direction (including that damn sex toy!).

During the last ten minutes, Sammy was in charge of gathering all of their belongings and putting them in the Impala, while Dean – after making sure that Dad was securely bound by handcuffs behind his back – had gone from room to room and retrieved every offending item that had been used here tonight to terrorize his baby brother, trying to right every over-turned piece of furniture and make the apartment seem at least relatively clean. There wasn't much Dean could do about the patches of blood or the tuffs of his little brother's hair, but he made sure to bleach every piece of physical evidence that could be tied to them to make it harder for the police to track them down.

Now, as Dean gruffly urged his brother to hurry up, the sirens in the distance becoming louder with every second, Dean gave the living room one last glance with an appraising, practiced hunter's eye, as he crouched down beside his still unconscious father, waiting for his brother to re-emerge so that he could help Dean carry their father to the car.

"Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on Dean … I'm done all ready." Sam muttered in exasperation as he entered the apartment from outside after having deposited the last of their belongings in the car, leaving the Impala's back door open so that they could easily manoeuvre Dad into the car.

Sam swallowed hard as he looked down upon the still form of his Dad, finding it difficult to look at him without remembering what had happened between them tonight. "Which end?" Sam asked his voice barely above a whisper.

Dean's eyes immediately sort out Sam the instant he heard the drop in his brother's tone, glancing up at him worriedly, seeing all of the classic signs of his brother's rising uncomfortableness that would soon turn to panic if Sam was left to his own devices.

"You grab his feet Sammy," Dean directed his brother as he wrapped his arms around his father's chest – under his arms – and waited for Sam to latch onto Dad's feet before he shot a questioning gaze at his brother, seeing Sam's weak attempt to reassure him with a trembling smile before the two of them lifted their father on the count of three and between the two of them, they deposited their unconscious father into the back seat of the Impala before shutting the door.

"Sammy, you good?" Dean asked, watching as his brother's face turned ashen and then white.

No," Sam admitted, that weak, trembling smile making an appearance once again. "But I will be."

"That's my boy!" Dean applauded Sam encouragingly as he pulled out the keys for Dad's truck and held them out to his brother. "We can't run the risk of leaving Dad's truck here for the police to discover his secret stash of weapons. You okay to drive?"

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I've been driving since I was thirteen Dean. I can manage the damn truck."

Dean tried to hide the smirk at his brother's sarcasm as Sam plucked the keys out of Dean's hand. "Just follow me and keep to the road rules Sammy. No speeding and any trouble –"

"Yeah, I know, flash the headlights twice." Sam waved at Dean almost dismissively as he climbed into the truck and waited to follow Dean out of this God forsaken town and some place quiet where they could hopefully get some answers from Dad.

They were able to get out of vicinity of the apartment block before any police showed up and Dean couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, watching Sam follow behind him in the rear-view mirror and then glanced in the back of the Impala to check on his still knocked-out father before looking ahead to make sure they were headed in the right direction; and then Dean would repeat each action. Slowly, some of the tension within Dean's shoulders began to lessen and his mind could finally concentrate on more than one thing at a time.

With a sigh, Dean dug into his pocket for his phone and called Caleb, not looking forward to this conversation at all. How the hell was Dean going to explain to the other hunter that in order to protect Sammy, Dean had had to shoot his own father? Dean was almost tempted to tell Caleb that everything was sorted and he no longer needed Caleb to come and collect Sam, but Dean knew that they needed a quiet place to bunker down and honestly, Dean wouldn't complain about the extra pair of hands when dealing with an awake, irate and extremely pissed off John Winchester. Whatever had caused Dad's massive melt-down tonight – either supernatural or otherwise – Dean was determined to get some answers and to make sure that nothing like this ever happened again.

"You did what?!" Caleb screeched and Dean had to pull the phone away from his ear, least Caleb's shrill voice busted an eardrum as he sighed loudly, knowing the lecture that was about to come about how careless he had acted; he should have known better than to react when he was emotional; blah, blah, blah …

Worried green eyes flicked toward his unresponsive father. It had been nearly twenty minutes now since Dean had knocked him out; surely Dad should be showing some signs of coming to by now. Dean honestly didn't think he had hit him that hard and the bullet wound was barely a scratch – straight through, with minimal bleeding that had been hastily treated at the apartment before they had left – so maybe it was something else that was keeping his father from regaining consciousness … or he was playing possum.

Dean heaved a sigh. "Yeah, I know Caleb, but he didn't give me any other choice." He interrupted Caleb's tirade.

"There's always a choice Dean," Caleb snapped back. "Damn, everyone that knows John has wanted to shoot him at one time or another … I honestly didn't think it would be his _son_ that would actually do it!"

Dean chuckled darkly, rubbing a weary hand over his face. "I'm still having trouble believing it myself Caleb," he reluctantly admitted. "But, like I said, he didn't give me any other _choice_."

"Dean, c'mon, I know that you were pissed off at him but you didn't need to take it this far man," Caleb gently reprimanded the younger hunter.

"He was gonna shoot Sammy!" Dean growled in irritation before he could stop himself.

Silence from the other end.

"Something was … _off_ with Dad, but I don't know what. If it's supernatural, it's not anything I've ever seen before. Look, I just need a quiet place where I can keep him safely confined until I find out what's going on."

"Okay," Caleb sighed in resignation. "If you say you didn't have a choice, then I believe you. I find it hard to believe that Johnny would want to shoot Sam though."

"Yeah, me too." Dean said bitterly.

"Do you know of anything unusual that John might have said or done before he …"

"Went psycho on our asses?" Dean supplied for his friend, hearing Caleb's short bark of a laugh at Dean's comment. "Not that I can think of … except … Dad did mention that he went to meet Martin for a beer to discuss the hunt that they were going to undertake today. Think he might know anything?"

"I'll look into it." Caleb promised. "In the meantime, you guys can crash at my family cabin. It's about ten minutes away from where you are. I'll meet up with you when I can."

"Thanks Caleb," Dean said gratefully, feeling a huge weight lifted from his shoulders now that he knew they had someplace safe to go.

"No problem. Just … if you feel the need to shoot John again, can you at least wait until I get there?"

Dean laughed. "No promises Caleb. But I will _try_ and not shoot Dad again, okay?" Dean ended the call with Caleb and finally began noticing the first signs of his Dad slowly returning back to the land of the living and Dean felt both relieved and anxious at the same time. Relieved because, at least he knew he hadn't hit Dad had enough to knock him into a coma; anxious because there was no telling what sort of mood John would be in once he awoke.

To say that John Winchester was pissed when he returned to full consciousness was an understatement. When John learned that he was restrained by handcuffs, placed on him by his own son … Dean had never seen his Dad so angry before or heard him use such a long string of intense cuss words that he sent toward his oldest son, his dark eyes narrowed and livid with fury.

"It's for your own good Dad," Dean had told the frantically thrashing older hunter in the back seat of the Impala. "For your own safety and ours … you didn't leave me any other options."

John stilled at his son's words. Their safety? What did Dean mean by that? Had he tried to hurt his boys?

Images suddenly came at John hard and fast. He saw himself mouthing off at Sammy like he normally did this one day of the year, a few back-handed slaps, followed by a few kicks – nothing that would leave too many unexplained bruises, least Dean grow more suspicious than he already was – finishing off half a bottle of hard liquor before telling Sam to tidy up this mess before his brother got back and then he'd left to meet Martin at the pub.

After his drink with Martin, that's when things started to become hazy and unclear. He remembered going back to the apartment and seeing … Mary. How was it that Mary was still alive? John didn't care how … or why, Mary was back and he was determined to make the most of it.

Wide, terrified hazel eyes stared up at him; tears rolling down his checks, pleading, begging John to stop. Sammy?! But wasn't he just with _Mary_? And why was Sammy handcuffed to the bed? Hang on son, let me get you lose. What happened to you? Who did this?

Horror suddenly dawned on John. Oh God, _he_ did this … to his baby boy! But … it was Mary. It had been Mary! What did you do to me?! Rage filled John as he chased Sam through the apartment, wanting – _needing_ – to remove his son's hair that was so much like Mary's. Holding him down, punching, kicking his boy into silence as he determinedly shaved his son's hair, ignoring Sam's pleas and promises that he'd be good from now on, he'll listen, he won't argue, please Dad, don't do this.

The sound of whimpering fills his ears now as fear descends upon him. Somehow Sammy has tricked him, tainted him, and infected him to do what he'd done. Sam had made him do this; made him see Mary. Oh God, he had to protect Dean. What if Sam infected Dean too? No! No, John wouldn't let that happen.

John was handcuffing his _son_ to the basin's pipe, pain and hurt filling his entire being because now his baby boy was lost to him forever, just like Mary … And honestly, if this was going to happen, if Sam was going to _infect_ both his father and brother, then why had Mary died? Her sacrifice had been for nothing! Nothing!

John _hated_ that vile, filthy _thing_ he'd handcuffed in the bathroom. "I wish you'd never been born!" He'd said before leaving again and vowing to deal with that … _thing_ before Dean returned because neither of them would be safe around Sammy anymore. The demon had won. He'd taken both his beloved wife and baby boy. John was determined that it wouldn't get to Dean too. No. All that mattered now was that John had to protect his oldest boy. And if that meant killing that _thing_ to do it, then that's what John would do.

Returning back to the apartment and facing an irate, suspicious Dean and an obviously traumatized Sammy, John forgot what he had come back here to do. He knew it was important, but it all fades into the back ground, more concerned and worried about his boys. Something had happened here. Who had done this? Who the _hell_ had hurt his boys? John was going to hunt them down and … wait … Dean thinks that _he_ did this? Dean thinks that he _hurt_ Sammy? That's impossible! Ludicrous! John loved his boys. He wanted to protect them and keep them safe … why would he _hurt_ them?

Something is stirring within the back of his mind now. The reason he'd come back to the apartment. Sammy had _infected_ him and now Dean … John had to protect Dean. He was all the family that John had left and he would not let Sammy infect Dean the way that he had infected John. Sorry son, this has to be done. It's the only way to keep your brother safe, John thinks as he pulls the trigger upon his gun that is aimed at the heart of his youngest son.

"Dad!"

John gasped, pulled back to the present by his son's commanding, worried tone. "What?" John grumbled gruffly, trying to cover up the fact that he hadn't heard a word Dean had been saying for the last five minutes and that he is suddenly _scared_ by the images that he had seen within his mind.

"I said, what do you remember?" Dean repeated as he turned onto an abandoned dirt road. Wherever they are headed, they much be getting close.

John closed his eyes, not wanting to reveal the images he had seen, not willing to believe that _he_ had done all of those things, feeling ashamed and guilty for the thoughts that he'd had about his baby boy and how far he was willing to go in order to protect Dean.

Oh God! Had John shot Sammy?!

John's eyes flew open, fill of panic as he stared into the green eyes of his oldest son. "Sammy!" John half gasped, half sobbed. "Dean, tell me that I didn't shoot Sammy."

Dean stared at John for a long heart beat before he shook his head. "Nah Dad, I never gave you the chance."

"But I remember a gun going off," John said a sick feeling of dread filling him.

"Yeah, you did," Dean agreed, his expression blank and devoid of any emotion. "That's because I shot you before you could shoot Sammy."

Dean's words sunk in and John relaxed against the back seat of the Impala with a sigh of relief. "That's my boy," John praised his oldest son proudly, thankful that at least _someone_ had been there to keep the youngest Winchester safe because he sure as hell hadn't been tonight (if the images in his head were anything to go by).

John Winchester couldn't stop the cold shudder that ran down the length of his body. "Dean, son, I think there's something … what's wrong with me?"

Dean stopped outside of a cabin and turned around to meet his father's worried, anxious expression, the sarcastic remark Dean was about to say died when he saw the look of fear within his father's dark eyes. His Dad _never_ got scared; and if he was, he would never have let either of his sons know it. "I don't know Dad," Dean said instead. "But we're going to figure it out, okay?" He smiled reassuringly.

After helping his father inside, Dean reluctantly decided that it was safe enough for him to remove John's handcuffs. Apart from his excessively enlarged pupils, John appeared to be back to his normal – albeit a little more sullen and quiet than usual – self. But to be on the safe side, Dean relieved all weapons from his father's person and placed them out of his father's reach. John had looked hurt at his son's actions, but he understood the need to be cautious, especially since he had apparently already tried to shoot Sammy.

John let out a long sigh as he sat down upon the couch, noticing that his youngest son stood in the doorway of the room, head down, hunched shoulders, endlessly twisting his hands together, looking miserable and uncomfortable within his father's presence. And really, who could blame the kid for that? If John had in fact _done_ all of those things to his baby boy, then John was actually surprised at the amount of worry and concern he could see within his son's expressive hazel eyes – overshadowing the obvious fear that he held for his father now – much less be in the same room as him.

John couldn't help the rush of pride that flowed through him. His baby boy still loved him and worried about him, despite everything that had happened tonight, and the last five years that John had viciously blamed him for his mother's death, taking his own frustrations and failure out on the boy.

Sam was stronger than John gave him credit for. And John could feel the overwhelming guilt of how he had treated his baby boy, the things he had accused him of, blamed him for, fill every corner of his being. How could he _think_ that an innocent _baby_ could be responsible for Mary's death? Sure, the demon may have been there for Sam that night, but wasn't it his job as the boy's father to protect his sons? His boy; who wore his heart on his sleeve; who could still hold so much compassion and love for a father who no longer deserved or had the right to ignite these feelings in his youngest.

Shamefully, John shook his head with disgust and regret, vowing to himself that things would be different. No longer would he blame his baby boy for anything. And when this dreaded anniversary rolled around next year, John would make sure that he would be well away from both of his boys. He loved them; he didn't want to hurt them. But John feared that if he didn't remove himself, distance himself from them – especially at this time of the year – then he would become worse and worse, taking his frustrations out on Sam more and more until … until he became the shell of the man he once was and all he would hold for his youngest son would be malice and contempt. John refused to let it come to that. He would never lay one more hand upon his youngest in drunken anger ever again. He could fix this. He could, he _would_. That is, he _could_ if Dean allowed him to.

John's dark eyes flickered over to his oldest, who stood in the middle of the room, almost as if he was a damn referee, a dark, solemn look on his too young features, not quite growling at John if he so much as _looked_ at Sam for too long. John knew how protective Dean was of their youngest – hell, that's how John had raised him – so it shouldn't really be that big of a surprise that Dean would stand in his way … especially if it was to protect Sammy. If it was to come down between him or Sammy, John honestly didn't know who Dean would choose. John just hoped that he hadn't totally destroyed this whole family. He didn't know if he could survive losing _both_ of his boys. They were all he had left in this world and … hopefully they could figure out what was wrong with him. And when they did – because surely John wouldn't have done this of his own of his own accord – John would work damn hard to make it up to his boys.

The ringing of Dean's cell phone caused both John and Sam to look at Dean curiously. "Caleb," Dean said by way of explanation as he glanced over at Sam, raising his eyebrows questioningly in silent communication that only the two brothers understood.

Sam tilted his head slightly and nodded, eyes moving toward John before returning to Dean and shrugging his shoulders before giving Dean his bitch-face, barely holding back an eye roll.

John felt his son's green eyes bore into him warningly, the message received loud and clear; no moves on Sammy or Dean would make him regret it. John nodded his compliance as Dean moved off into the other room to answer Caleb's call in private. Hopefully he'd found something that could explain John's unusual behaviour tonight.

Sam felt completely naked without his hair to hide behind. He couldn't discreetly look at their father while shielding himself behind the curtain of hair that he had gotten used to for the last fifteen years. Now he had no shield and no barrier between him and the things that frightened him or made him uncomfortable or to hide his emotions when he was on the verge of tears and didn't want either his father or brother to know.

Now he was completely barrier less, his expressive hazel eyes out there for all to see, barring his soul, feeling as if a major part of himself had gone; his first line of defence, obliterated in a single night of hell that he was trying really hard not to dwell on right now as Dean had left the room momentarily to take a call from, but keeping Sam well within his sights which helped to ease Sam's tension and nervousness a little, considering that John Winchester was in the room with Sam – on the opposite of the room – as far away from Sam as he could possibly get.

Sam tried to stop the subtle tremors that he could feel running up and down the length of his body at being alone with his father. The last time they'd been alone together … Sam swallowed hard and violently pushed those thoughts away. He was safe. There was no need to dwell on what happened; besides, it was beginning to look as if he hadn't been his Dad who had done it after all.

Regardless, the earlier pattern tonight had been the same for the last five years – John was obviously in his right mind then, before he had left the apartment the first time – and Sam knew that if he had to go through something like that again … he would rather eat a bullet! So, whether his Dad had been in his right mind later or not, Sam knew that he still had to leave Dean and Dad behind. Dean shouldn't have to choose. It was simple really.

Sam could _feel_ his father's eyes upon him once more and he couldn't help the involuntary shudder that coursed through his body.

"Sammy … I think we need to … talk about … what happened …" John stammered almost awkwardly.

Sam's head snapped up, surprised by his father's words. Since when did John ever want to just _talk_? "Why?" Sam said and he could have kicked himself at how terrified his voice sounded at that one word, his heart pounding fearfully within his chest.

John couldn't help but notice a trail of red marks along his son's jaw-line when Sam raised his eyes to meet his and John couldn't help but feel an instant moment of shame as he realised that _he_ had done that. "I think I should explain …" John began before Sam's eyes narrowed and he shot John a look so Dean-like that it caused John to lose track of his words.

"There's nothing to explain." Sam told him in a low, dark voice that he hardly even recognised as being his own. "I don't _want_ to hear your excuses or your explanations. And I most definitely _do not want to talk about it_!" Sam's eyes flashed dangerously, warning John to back off and drop this line of inquiry right now.

John blinked, confused by his son's behaviour, taking in his son's wild, flashing eyes; the fisted hands at his sides; the trembling of his shoulders; his bottom lip quivering as if he was about to …

Damn! Sammy wasn't angry. He was on the verge of tears. John realised that he would much rather deal with an angry Sam than a tearful Sammy. John had always hated it when Sam cried. It wasn't the fact that grown men shouldn't cry – although that was a part of the reason – it was the fact that John felt inadequate to deal with Sam when he got emotional like this. He felt helpless, useless. There was no _simple_ way that he could _fix_ the problem for Sam – not like he could if some evil bastard came at him and tried to hurt him – because it wasn't a physical problem but an emotional problem and John had never done well with emotions.

He wasn't equipped to deal with an emotional sobbing Sammy. That had always been Dean's job. But Dean wasn't here and as John could see the tears begin to well within his youngest son's eyes, John couldn't help but revert back to his old ways. He got to his feet and strode over to Sam, his lips stretched in disapproval as he placed his hands upon Sam's shoulders and shook him roughly a couple of times. "Get a hold of yourself Sammy; you're a Winchester for God's sake, not some … _hormonal girl_!"

But, instead of snapping Sam out of his emotional melt-down, it had only managed to cause Sam to spiral dangerously into another emotional down fall that Sam had … panic attacks.

Sam's eyes widened as he ripped himself out of his father's hold and backed up as much as he could against the wall, trying to put as much distance between himself and Dad, panicked gasps racing through him, keeping his eyes firmly fixed upon his father. No way was he letting _him_ out of his sights!

"St-stay away fr-from me!" Sam ordered weakly, putting a hand out in front of him as a weak form of shield and defence. "You fucking stay aw-away from me!"

John held up his hands and backed away from his youngest, realising he had made a grievous error the instant his had put his hands upon his son's shoulders. "It's okay," John said soothingly, shooting a worried look out of the room to where Dean was, hoping that his oldest didn't walk in on this. Because, knowing Dean, he would jump to the wrong conclusion and probably end up knocking John out again. All Dean would see would be the terrified look within his brother's eyes and then he would react, instinctively wanting to shield and protect his brother.

"Calm down son, I'm not going to hurt you." John added his tone low and placating as he quickly tried to return Sam to a normal state. "Come on Sammy, you don't want Dean to see you like this, do you? You're big brother would be ashamed of you right now for acting like a bloody child!"

Those words seemed to stop Sam in his tracks as he stared at his father in shock. Dean being ashamed of him? Of _course_ dean was ashamed of him! How could he not be ashamed after finding his brother like that?

"Dean's already ashamed of me," Sam spat out bitterly. " _You_ made sure of that. Why the _hell_ did you handcuff me in the bathroom? If you had never handcuffed me, then Dean would never have found out. He wouldn't know the truth. He wouldn't know how weak and pathetic his little brother is, how _I_ caused Mum's death!"

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to regain some composure once more, noticing by the tones in his older brother's voice in the other room that he was getting ready to end the call. "Don't worry _Dad_ ; I won't be a problem for you … or Dean for much longer. As soon as Caleb gets here, I'm leaving. You and Dean can go hunting and play happy families without me. You won't have to worry about your _monster_ of a son trying to kill you or … _infect_ you while you sleep. I will go away and disappear from your life forever … it will almost be like I was never born."

John couldn't help but wince at Sam's words, hating himself even more because those were the words he had told Sam over and over for the last five years, beating it into him, and ingraining it into his soul. And now Sam thought that he had to go away, leave, disappear in order to make John and Dean's life better?

God, he was such a crappy father!

 **TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary:** AU Dean has to protect Sam from a lot of people and evil supernatural things. He never thought he'd have to protect Sammy from one of the most trusted people in their lives.

 **WARNING:** Abuse of a minor, implied sexual abuse, swearing, Dark Themes.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters, nor am I making any profit from this at all.

 **Special Thanks:** To **Mimmi85** and **MarbleWolf** for your kind review. Hope this chapter is to your liking. Thanks to everyone who is following and has read, or viewed this story. Your appreciation means a lot. Hope you enjoy the last instalment of the story.

 **Note:** Not entirely sure how this turned out. I don't do so well with endings, and it's a wee bit longer than my other chapters … but here it is and I hope you have enjoyed the ride with me.

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

Dean knew the instant Sam was on the verge of a panic attack, his older brother instincts kicking into over-drive. Quickly he glanced into the living room where he had left his father and little brother and wasn't impressed with what he saw. Sam was backed into a corner, John standing over him.

Dean was about to spring to his brother's defence but then noticed his Dad backing up a few steps, hands raised in a non-threatening manner and Dean relaxed slightly, carefully watching the show down between father and youngest son, his call to Caleb ending as soon as he had sensed his little brother's uneasiness, although Dean pretended to be still talking to Caleb, wanting to get some insight into his younger brother's frame of mind. Sam hadn't said much the entire night – apart from reluctantly telling Dean what had happened while Dean had held him protectively in his arms, leaving out large chunks of the incident, careful not to name the person who had done it – remaining sullen, silent and withdrawn, only speaking when it was absolutely necessary.

This was a rare opportunity that Dean couldn't pass up. How else was he going to get some _real_ insight into his little brother's mind without Sam being aware that Dean was listening in on the conversation?

Dean felt a pang of anger and hurt at his baby brother's words. How the hell could Sam ever think that Dean would be ashamed of him? Why the hell didn't this kid know how _important_ he was to Dean and that nothing he _did_ would ever make Dean ashamed of him?

Dean closed his eyes and gritted his teeth together in anger. There Sam went again, blaming himself for Mum's death. How many times did Dean have to tell this kid that he had nothing to do with their mother's death before it finally sunk into that thick-headed skull of his? Damn, sometimes his kid was just too damn _dense_ for his own good. How could he ever think those things about himself?

Dad. Dean's mind supplied, and Dean couldn't help the renewed loathing that he now felt for the man who had once been his idol, his hero, his _father_.

Wait … What? Sammy was _leaving_?

Dean tried to keep his breathing calm and controlled, even though he felt sick to his stomach at the thought of his baby brother out there in the world by himself. Oh hell no! Dean would _not_ allow his brother to take off by himself in such a dangerous world. Who knows _what_ would be out there to claim him? Of course, Dean _knew_ what was out there. He also knew how much of a magnet his brother was for getting into trouble (human and supernatural alike). There was _no_ way that Dean could let Sam go off on his own. No, if it came down to it, Dean would take off with his kid and leave Dad behind. He was _not_ abandoning Sammy.

Dean sighed deeply, his eyes snapping open, green eyes filled with determination to finally end this little misadventure once and for all. And to finally find out the complete truth of what had happened between his little brother and father.

Caleb's call had been … enlightening. And it definitely explained some of Dad's abnormal behaviour, but there were still things that Dean wanted – _needed_ – to know before he decided to either stay with Dad or leave.

Stealing himself for the inevitable confrontation to come, Dean walked back into the living room and eyed his family closely. "Is everything okay in here?" He asked gruffly, seeing John lower his eyes briefly before meeting Dean's once more.

"Everything's fine Dean," John responded by scowling angrily at Dean, almost challenging his son to disagree with him in typical John Winchester fashion.

Dean tried hard not to roll his eyes at his father's obvious ploy for taking charge of the situation as he took in his brother's defeated posture, his eyes softening a little at his baby brother's misery. "Sammy, you good?" Dean asked, bumping his younger brother's shoulder gently.

"Yeah Dean, I'm good," Sam lied, unconsciously moving closer to Dean, seeking out the comfort, support and strength of his older sibling. "So … did Caleb have any information that can help us?"

"Actually, he did," Dean replied, deciding not to call Sam out on his lie – he'd deal with that later – his father's dark eyes gazing at him both hopefully and apprehensively.

"Well?" John said his voice barely above a whisper, almost pleading with Dean to tell him that there was something supernaturally _wrong_ with him.

Dean blew out his breath. "It's not supernatural Dad," he said softly, watching as horror and disbelief filled his father's dark eyes, denials and questions already forming on his lips as Dean held out a hand to stop his father's words. "But … I'm not sure that it was entirely your fault either," he said, seeing his father's eyes light up hopefully, while Sam held his breath anxiously beside him.

"What does that mean Dean?" Sam asked quietly, his body tensing up, fill of nervous energy, both eagerly awaiting Dean's revelation and not wanting to know what it was that Dean had discovered.

Dean slipped an arm about his younger brother's shoulders, squeezing gently, trying to relieve some tension from the kid. "Seems like our old man got roofied." Dean smirked, seeing confusion within his brother's eyes and disbelief within John's dark eyes.

"What? Roofied? By who?" John demanded, his head spinning with this news, feeling both ashamed and indignant.

"By your good buddy Martin," Dean told his Dad, watching an array of emotions flicker across his father's face. "He slipped you a nasty anti-psychotic drug from his own personal supply. One of the side-effects from this drug is to cause you to hallucinate; causing you to see, hear and feel things that aren't there. Basically Dad, what you experienced was a full-blown psychotic episode."

"But … _why_ would Martin do that?" John asked, bewildered by Dean's revelation. Of course there was also a sense of vindication and relief because John _knew_ he couldn't have done those things to his baby boy if he'd been in his right mind.

"I don't know Dad," Dean shrugged. "That's something you will have to ask Martin." Knowing by the look within his father's eyes, Dean knew that Martin would be expecting a visit from a very irate John Winchester within the foreseeable future. "You okay kid?" Dean nudged his too quiet brother.

Sam blinked, nodding slowly. "Yeah." He said a wide smile surfacing, relief evident within his hazel eyes. "So all of this … it wasn't Dad's fault. It was just a bit misunderstanding after all."

Dean wouldn't quite go _that_ far. But if it made the kid feel better to think that, then who was he to argue or burst his bubble? Dean was honestly fifty-fifty on this one. He understood how, because not in his right mind – seeing things, hearing things – how John's attitude had changed so dramatically and that he was no more in control of his actions than if he had been possessed. But on the other hand … Dean wasn't completely convinced that all of this could be blamed on psychosis. That was why he _had_ to talk to his Dad and get the damn truth from him – because he knew that Sammy sure as hell wouldn't tell him! – before Dean decided on his next course of action.

"Of _course_ I didn't do it!" John spat out indignantly. "How many times did I tell you that tonight boys? And neither of you _believed_ me."

Dean watched as the smile left his brother face, replaced by instant regret and shame, once again lowering his eyes to the ground in defeat.

Dean barely suppressed the growl of annoyance and frustration at both his father's tone and his words. And how, in a matter of seconds, Dad could break Sammy down once again. Hadn't this kid been through enough tonight without Dad verbally attacking them to rub it in their faces, smugly declaring "I told you so!"? Was his Dad really so petty and simple-minded that he couldn't _see_ what this whole ordeal had done to this own _son_ and all he cared about was to be proven right?

Damn, sometimes his Dad really pissed him off!

"It's okay buddy," Dean tightened his hold about Sam's shoulders, his tone soft – almost gentle – even as he glared daggers at his father. "You weren't to know that Dad was off his rocker on a psychotic break. Human problems are a lot harder to figure out than supernatural problems. You have _nothing_ to be sorry for or feel guilty about Sam. This is _not_ your fault, okay little bro?"

Sam shrugged non-committedly, not entirely convinced by his older brother's words, but willing to go along with it for now so that he could drop this whole matter and shove it to the back of his mind where he would never have to think about or deal with it ever again! Not exactly a healthy coping mechanism, Sam knew, but right now he was too tired to think coherently and he just wanted this whole nightmare to be over so that he could put it behind him and move on.

Dean couldn't help the half-smile that formed upon his lips, noticing that as the tension left his baby brother, he was filled with sheer and utter exhaustion, swaying slightly on his feet. "Come on little dude, let's get you set up in bed, huh? You are dead on your feet right now." He chuckled fondly.

Sam stiffened at his brother's words and gazed up at Dean imploringly, his hazel eyes wide with fear, pain and horror.

"It's okay Sammy," Dean murmured soothingly, instantly knowing what had upset his little brother. He didn't want to be alone right now, scared of the nightmares that would no doubt be assaulting him as soon as he closed his eyes. He didn't want to relive his horrifying, traumatizing experience and being in a bed … would bring back memories that Sam didn't want, need or have the energy to deal with right now.

"I'm not going to leave you, okay bro? I'll be right here by your side the entire time." Dean shot his father a look over the top of his brother's head as he was gently guiding Sam to one of the bedrooms off the living room. "Don't you go anywhere." Dean warned his father darkly. "We need to talk once I get Sammy settled."

John nodded, swallowing hard at the icy coldness within his oldest son's green eyes. Sammy may have dropped the matter and taken it for what it was – an _accident_ based on him being _drugged_ and having a complete psychotic episode – but it didn't look as if Dean was going to let him off the hook quite so easily.

Of course not, John sighed wearily. Why would Dean go easy on him? Why wouldn't Dean _understand_ that it hadn't been _him_ who had hurt Sammy? John hadn't been in his right mind, so how could he be blamed for what happened?

If John had come after Dean while having a psychotic melt-down, John knew that Dean would have forgiven him and forgotten about it instantly. But the fact that John had hurt Sammy – whether intentional or not – was something that Dean was not going to forgive or forget him doing easily. John was going to have to prove that he could be trusted to look after Sammy. And that, John knew, was going to take a long time, according to Dean's standards.

John sank heavily onto the couch, not sure if he was up for a confrontation with his obviously pissed off oldest son, but knowing that he didn't have a choice. If he wanted to fix his family, then he needed to talk with his oldest boy and hopefully be able to fix his devastatingly broken family, reassuring Dean that this would never happen again.

It took Dean nearly an hour to get Sam to settle down and then another forty minutes before the kid eventually closed his stubborn eyes and finally fell asleep. Dean waited another ten minutes, gently running fingers though his brother's ruined hair, knowing how much that action calmed and soothed his baby brother when he was scared or having trouble falling asleep.

"It's okay little man," Dean said soothingly. "I'm here now. You're fine, you're safe Sammy. Nothing's gonna happen to you while I'm around, okay little brother? I just need to have a private chat with Dad and then the two of us can hit the road, if that's what you want to do. No way am I letting you go off by yourself. You get into way too much trouble when left to your own devices. Sorry kiddo, but I guess you're stuck with me."

Dean smirked at the sudden frown that appeared upon his brother's brow. "Don't worry Sammy; I'll try to leave Dad in one piece … although I'm not promising anything. But – and I know that you would bitch at me until you're blue in the face if you were awake right now – Dad needs to … face the consequences of his actions Dean Winchester style. No body hurts my kid and gets away with it!"

Making sure that Sam was settled as much as he could be, Dean turned the beside lamp down low, leaving the door slightly ajar so that if his brother awoke and Dean wasn't around, at least the kid wouldn't wake up in complete darkness in an unfamiliar room and totally freak out before Dean re-entered the living room to see his father dozing lightly upon the couch while waiting for Dean to return.

Dean cleared his throat loudly and was not surprised when his Dad's eyes flew open and he jumped to his feet, eyes frantically searching for the unknown threat before his eyes came to rest upon Dean, confused as to why his oldest son had disturbed his slumber before everything came crashing back to him, his dark eyes clearing as he looked at Dean expectantly.

"How's Sammy doing?" John asked quietly and Dean could see the guilt and shame emanating within his Dad's eyes.

Dean felt his jaw muscle tensing, suddenly feeling _irritated_ at his father's inquiry. What the hell gave this son of a bitch the right to ask how Sam was, after what _he_ had done to the kid? Dean's only response was to glare at his father, desperately trying to get his rising anger under control.

"Dean," John sighed deeply, regret tinging his tone now. "Son, you heard what Caleb said. Martin _spiked_ my fucking drink. I … I didn't have any control over my actions. You have to know that if I was in my right mind, I could _never_ intentionally hurt Sammy. You know that, right son?"

"I thought I did." Dean answered ruefully, his flash of anger leaving him in the face of his Dad's contrite behaviour. Dean could tell that Dad felt miserable about what had happened tonight. Dean could see the self-loathing within his father's dark eyes and the pain at the knowledge that he had hurt his own son with his own hands.

Whether intentional or not, John had crossed a line, his own hands causing his youngest son to be traumatized, beaten, defenceless, defeated, humiliated and Dean saw that hatred for himself within Dad's eyes. And maybe … just a little, Dean felt for his Dad. How would he feel if that had happened to him and he had hurt someone he loved, under the influence of hallucinations, not knowing what was real or not, having no control over your own actions, fear consuming you as you fought to understand what was happening to you? Dean would _hate_ it. Dean would never be able to forgive himself if he ever hurt Sammy the way that Dad had.

"I get it Dad," Dean said as he stepped closer to John, recognising his father's slumped shoulders as a sign of his Dad's regret and remorse. And honestly, Dean sympathised with the man. "I get that you were under the influence – so to speak – and I get that you had no control over what you saw or your actions; and I get that you were probably freaking out, not knowing what was going on or what was happening … "

John nodded eagerly, grateful at his oldest son's words. Yes, that was exactly how it was. And John was relieved that at least Dean seemed to understand what John had gone through and how terrible it had been for him to realise that he had been the one to cause his son so much suffering. John knew that with Dean on his side, eventually Sammy would come around to the point where he wouldn't look at John with such anguish and hurt within his large hazel eyes that it tore at John's already broken and beaten heart, knowing that there was nothing he could do to _fix_ this for his boy. It was horrible, this feeling of being completely _powerless_ and useless to be able to help your boy, knowing that because of _you_ , your boy was hurting.

"And while I know all of that, I can understand and sympathise with how terrible it must have been to have now control over your own body and maybe … maybe I could forgive you for your actions tonight, seeing as it wasn't really _you_ who did that to Sammy, but …" Dean stopped in front of his father, mere inches from his face, his voice low and calm, even as his green eyes darkened and narrowed with a fury John recognised all too well. This was Dean's; somebody-touched-my-brother-and-now-they-have-to-pay look. "Some of the things Sam did and said when I found him half-naked, handcuffed in a locked bathroom, freaking out, terrified out of his freaking mind, bruises, fingerprints and … fucking _hickeys_ on his God damned neck, have got me wondering that maybe – and I hope to God I'm wrong about this – but maybe this wasn't the first time something like this happened."

John resisted the urge to step back from his clearly _very_ enraged son, swallowing back his nervousness and fear at having been caught out, trying to remain calm and confident, showing no sign of weakness in front of his boy, even though he felt the walls closing in on him very quickly within his oldest son's wrathful gaze.

Dean tensed at the flash of guilt he could see within his Dad's eyes at his words, his jaw muscle twitching in an effort to remain in control, even though he could feel his anger surging to an almost out of control level as he held his father's eyes with his own steely gaze. "Tell me Dad," Dean said in a bitter, accusing tone. "And you better tell me the God damned truth this time or so help me, I will take Sam and you will never see either of us again …"

Panic rose within John, knowing that his son would follow through on his threat and John couldn't stand the thought of being by himself. He loved his boys. He didn't _want_ them to leave, either of them.

Dean stepped impossibly closer to John, his posture demanding John's attention and for the first time in his life, John felt afraid of his boy and what he would be capable of doing if it was to protect Sammy from harm.

John had, of course, seen this behaviour within his oldest, but it had never been directed at him, always at the evil sons of bitches – both supernatural and human – who had dared to hurt his little brother. Now on the receiving end of Dean's threatening, protective, pissed off beyond words, mode, John found himself a tad intimidated within his son's presence.

"Have you touched my brother before tonight?" Dean asked, his voice icy-cold, watching his father's reactions closely.

John straightened up to his full-height, offended by Dean's accusations and his unveiled threats. He was the parent here, not Dean. John demanded and _deserved_ respect from his children and for his _child_ to speak to him in such a condescending, disrespectful tone, caused John's temper to instantly flare to life. "Dean," John growled deep in his throat, warningly. "You need to back the hell up and calm down this instant."

"Or what?" Dean challenged, glaring up at his father defiantly. "You'll hit me too?"

"No Dean," John said through gritted teeth. "I don't _hit_ my children, even when they get in my face like you're doing right now."

"Really?" Dean's eyebrows rose sceptically, disbelievingly.

John let out a heavy sigh, desperately trying to reign in his rising frustrations. "Look son, why don't we both take step back before one of us does something they'll regret?"

"Who says I'll regret it?" Dean grinned at John darkly.

"Back off Dean!" John warned his voice deep and low. "If I could take back what happened tonight, don't you think I would? You think I enjoy seeing Sammy look at me with fear? You think I don't hate myself for what happened? I know it's my fault. I should have been paying closer attention to my drink. But I can't change what happened Dean. All I … _any_ of us can do is to move forward and learn from this experience."

Dean eyed his father coolly, the instinct to listen to his father, obey and believe every word he said, fighting with his big brother instinct to protect Sam and to get to the bottom of this so that Sammy never got hurt again. And it hadn't escaped his attention that his father had clearly evaded his original question. "Okay Dad," Dean sighed, taking half a step back; instantly noticing his father's palpable relief at Dean's seemingly backing down. "I believe you."

John's whole body relaxed at those words. Thank God, his boy believed him. Now they could get back to John being in charge, directing his sons' attentions to various hunts, returning to a semblance of normality that John was comfortable with.

"I believe that you feel bad and you're sorry about what happened tonight. I believe that if you could go back and change things … you would. And I believe that you love us and would protect us from danger, right?"

"Right," John agreed, grinning weakly, a sense of ease settling over him.

"Here's the thing though Dad," Dean continued. "When I found Sammy, he was … shocked and distraught that I was there."

"Of course he was Dean," John said, his voice calm now that Dean believed him once more. "He wasn't expecting you back so early."

Dean's eyes narrowed at his Dad's words becoming suspicious of his father once more. "How do you know that?"

"What?"

"How do you know that's what Sam was scared of, me being back earlier than expected? How do you know that?"

John blinked, realising his mistake the moment he had uttered those words. But he could fix this, he _would_ fix this. "Come on Dean, you haven't been home before the sun rises after … _that_ day for years. Of course Sammy would be surprised that you were back so early!" John snorted indignantly.

"Huh." Dean said, slightly impressed by his father's persuasive argument. It definitely sounded logical. But Dean also knew his Dad and he _knew_ that John was hiding something from him. "Fair point," Dean conceded. "And you're probably right about that. But, I got the feeling that it was because of something else."

"What do you mean?" John asked cautiously.

"I don't know," Dean shrugged in an off-hand manner. "But I got the feeling that it wasn't something I was supposed to _see_ or know about."

John kept his expression neutral, knowing that Dean was searching his facial expressions for any obvious or subconscious abnormalities that would alert Dean to his inner guilt. "I don't know what you're talking about Dean." John dead-panned, not even blinking as he held his son's gaze. "What exactly are you trying to imply here? Do you think I go round handcuffing Sammy to basins on a regular basis when you're not around?" He retorted sarcastically.

"I don't know. Do you?" Dean replied evenly, seeing a flash of anger enter his father's dark eyes. Yep. Dean's words were definitely starting to get under his skin, which made Dean's suspicions of the man kick up another notch. John only ever got this defensive when he was trying to avoid telling Dean the truth.

"Of course not!" John spluttered resentfully, his hands balled up at his sides. "How can you even _suggest_ such a thing?"

Dean's gaze remained calm and steady. Just a little more pushing … and then hopefully Dean would finally be able to uncover the truth. "There was something else Sam said that got my attention," Dean said, deliberately ignoring his father's last remark, knowing how annoyed that would make his father. "He said, and I quote: "It's never been this bad before". Any idea on what that means?"

John froze, glowering at Dean darkly before he began to move away from his son, determined not to answer that, but Dean's hand upon his arm prevented John from moving too far as John raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"I need the truth Dad." Dean told his father, his grip tightening on John's arm. "Have you _touched_ my brother before tonight?"

John stared into the deadly serious, quickly deepening green eyes, and John knew by the way his son's green eyes kept growing deeper and darker until his eyes almost appeared black; that there was no way Dean was letting him off the hook this time. And by the look of his boy's steadily increasing anxious posture … Wait … Did Dean mean touch as in hit or _touch_ as in …

John swallowed hard, suddenly appalled and horrified by Dean's accusations. "No!" John hissed, ripping his arm from his son's grip. "Of course I never _touched_ Sammy! How the hell can you even _ask_ me that? You really think I'm some kind of monster, don't you?"

Dean pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Do you remember what you did tonight Dad?" He ventured quietly. "Cause you know, even though I _insisted_ that Sam tell me what happened … he never actually told me anything specific and he never named _you_ as being responsible. But I didn't need Sammy to give me a name, because even though I tried to deny it at first, the only one it really could have been was you. And to be completely honest with you Dad, I've been noticing the way both you and Sam would get as this day approached and afterward … well, you would _always_ book us somewhere nice for a couple of weeks … almost as if you were trying to _buy_ Sam's forgiveness."

"That's ridiculous!" John retorted hotly.

"Sammy never named you. And when I mentioned taking him to the hospital to get checked out … the damn kid nearly had a heart attack. He was adamant that he was fine and that you hadn't … caused any damage to warrant a hospital visit. I wasn't convinced and I still think that the kid probably needs to go to a doctor at the very least. But, my point is … Sam was trying to _protect_ you … and he was trying to protect me too. _Why_ would Sammy feel the need to _lie_ to me about something like that? If, like you say, you haven't touched Sam before tonight, why would Sam do everything in his power to convince me that it was _his_ fault, not yours?

Because, if it was just a one-time occurrence, then Sam wouldn't have felt the _need_ to defend you so strongly, he wouldn't have felt the need to _protect_ you, and he definitely wouldn't have tried to hide the truth from me. If this had been the _first_ time, Sam wouldn't have hesitated in telling me what had happened and then we would have figured out what was going on with you … together. But the fact that he _lied_ … and then tried to cover up for your sorry ass, suggests to me that this has happened more than once."

"No." John stubbornly shook his head, denying Dean's words, even as images from previous years came back to haunt him. "It's not _like_ that!"

Dean's own anger was beginning to surge over him in waves, but he _knew_ that in order to get Dad to reveal the truth, he had to keep pushing, keeping his tone neutral, his body as relaxed and calm as he could be considering the circumstances. Only his eyes betrayed the true extent of his rage.

Dean clicked his jaw back in an effort to remain in control for just a little longer. "You wanna know how I know that Sammy hadn't told me everything? Should I explain to you how I _felt_ when I walked into Sam's room and discovered … that it was just as trashed as the living room, but the state of my brother's _bed_?"

John flinched at Dean's words, his face turning a sickly shade of white.

"As if the soiled sheets weren't bad enough, but to learn that it was _your_ handcuffs – all four sets of them by the way – that were secured around each post of Sammy's bed … that's when I knew for sure that it was _you_ who had put your damned filthy hands all over my kid brother and fucking traumatised him!"

"Dean! That's not fair!" John cried out weakly, swallowing back the large lump of emotion. "I didn't know. I didn't have a choice."

"Didn't have a choice?!" Dean repeated, his eyes flaring with barely suppressed fury, and he couldn't help it as he violently shoved his father in the chest, causing John to stumble back in shock and surprise. "Why the _fuck_ would you handcuff him to the bed if you didn't know what you were doing?" Dean demanded, his voice rising a couple of notches, his mounting anger surging its way through him, letting John know exactly how pissed off he was right now. "You _restrained_ him so you could put your vile, filthy hands on my baby brother without him putting up a fight! Restrained him so that you could put _hickeys_ all of his damned neck! Restrained him by leaving bruise marks of _your_ handprints upon his arms; forcing him to lie there while you … what Dad? What the fuck did you do to my brother?!" Dean couldn't help but scream in his father's face, his nostrils flaring, hands clenched at his sides, shaking with rage and fury.

"I … I don't know." John replied quietly, his voice trembling with shock, shame and guilt, feeling physically ill at his son's words. "I don't … I can't remember what happened. But, believe me when I say that if I had been in my right mind, it never would have gotten so out of control like that. I have _never_ hurt Sammy like that! I swear." John met Dean's stare forthrightly, letting Dean see the truth behind his words.

Dean heaved out a sigh, running a hand through his hair, trying to calm down when he realised that his Dad was telling him the truth this time. Maybe he had gotten it all wrong; misinterpreted the messages and signals that Sammy had been giving him; taking everything out of context and proportion because his kid had been hurting and in pain. Maybe this had been just a one-time occurrence, caused by his Dad's drug induced psychosis and … Wait a minute … What had Dad just said? It never would have gotten so out of control like that … Was Dad implying that it _had_ happened before with that statement or was he just wishing that he'd had more control over the situation tonight?

"Of course, now that this has happened … it makes me see how … unfair I've been to Sammy. But I can fix it Dean. I promise, things will be different."

Dean frowned at his father's words. "What do you mean fix it? What things will be different? What the hell are you talking about Dad?" He demanded, levelling his father with his no-more-bullshit look.

John nodded in resignation, knowing that the time for half-truths and deceptions had passed. If John truly wanted to mend his family, then he had to come clean to Dean about everything. Even if that meant John risked losing both of his boys forever, it would be better in the long run because not matter what happened – whether both boys stayed; Sammy left, Dean stayed or they both left – John would never stop trying to make it up to them; to prove to them that he could be trusted once more and that he loved them both unconditionally.

"I guess there's no easy way to admit this so …" John sighed softly, feelings of remorse and grief taking hold before John straightened and regained his stoic expression once more. "I wasn't lying Dean, I haven't hurt Sammy like this, but … I haven't exactly been truthful either."

John ran both hands through his hair, anxiously searching Dean's expression for signs of the boy's protective flare of violence to return. But so far, Dean's expression remained cool and calculating. "I don't know where to begin … how to _explain_ it so that you'll understand … hell, I don't even know if _I_ understand it myself, but … " John's words trailed off and Dean patiently waited for his father to continue, determined not to lose his cool again until he had finally figured out the truth.

"This time of the year is always hard on me Dean. I … your mother was everything to me and to lose her like that …" John swallowed hard, a slight grimace upon his lips as he regarded his oldest son. "Well, you know what' it's like, right son?"

Dean nodded in agreement.

"I don't know when it started happening or why but … for some reason I got it into my head that … Sammy was responsible for Mary's death." John heard his boy's audible, shocked gasp before reluctantly continuing. "I said such horrible things to him Dean, terrible things that a father should never tell his son or even _think_ about his son. But I was half-drunk and mad with grief and … so I took my frustrations out on my boy."

"What did you _do_ Dad?" Dean ground out, his teeth clenching together in anger and disbelief, figuring that his Dad must be still under the drug's influence because this was the most emotion that Dean had ever heard his father share before, and Dean suddenly felt extremely guilty in taking advantage of an obviously still drugged John Winchester. But this was for Sammy, and Dean needed to know the truth.

"I … it was a moment of weakness and it's not one of my finer moments Dean, definitely not anything to be proud about that's for sure! But on that one night a year, on the anniversary of your mother's death, I would blame _everything_ and anything that I could on Sammy because … it was another year that Mary's death remained unavenged and I was no closer to finding that damn demon that killed her; no closer to answers on _why_ Mary had to die, why the demon was there in the first place. I would lose myself in the comfort of the bottle but … it never really helped, just made the pain worse, my thoughts darkening with … terrible suspicions about Sammy. The more I drank, the more I convinced myself of those horrendous lies."

John's eyes filled with tears, disgusted with himself. How could he have thought, said and done those things to his baby boy? He had effectively stripped down every piece of his son's confidence with every horrible declaration he had made, and every punch, kick, slap he had thrown. God, he was a pathetic excuse of a father! He was just a drunk and a bully and … if he stopped being so damn selfish, maybe the best thing for his boys would be to take off and leave his sorry ass behind.

" _What did you do_?" Dean practically growled, his body vibrating.

"I told Sammy that he was a disgrace to the Winchester name; that Mary would be … ashamed of him; that Sammy caused his mother's death and the only reason she died was because she was protecting Sam from the demon that had come for him." John lowered his eyes, his head hanging dejectedly, regretting every damn thing he had ever told his baby, because none of it was true. He'd been drunk, frustrated, dark emotions and thoughts circling within him until … he had to release them or he would have exploded. And the only available person on whom he could take it out on at the time had been Sam.

John choked back on a sob, bitting his bottom lip hard, fighting to keep his tears at bay. "I told Sammy that you would be disappointed in him if you knew that he had killed your mother; you would hate him, _despise_ him and you would drop his ass first chance you got and never look back."

Dean was clenching his teeth so hard that he was actually _grinding_ them together, a dark rage settling within the pit of his stomach, low, rough sounds emanating from deep within his throat, fighting the urge to start swinging at the old man – although, right now, Dean was running out of convincing arguments on _why_ that would be such a bad idea! – because he _knew_ that there was more. Could tell that there was more – and probably worse – to come by the way his father's dark eyes kept sliding away from his eyes, pacing restlessly in front of Dean, running endless fingers and hands through his hair.

"I said that … he was tainted, cursed and that I couldn't … stand the sight of him. I said that he wasn't my … son and that … he should have been the one to die, not Mary!" John couldn't help the sobs that descended upon him now, feeling so ashamed for what he had put upon his youngest son's shoulders, all so he could make himself feel better, so _he_ didn't feel useless or inadequate because he hadn't tracked down Mary's killer yet.

"And while saying those – despicable lies, because I never meant a word of it Dean, I swear! – I would emphasis each statement with a … slap, kick, a punch … and then when I finally snapped out of it, feelings of shame and guilt flowing through me, I couldn't be in the same room as Sammy and see those … eyes of his … so I would tell him to clean up before you got back and … leave. I'm a coward, I know … but I _need_ you to understand Dean that it's never going to happen again, okay? I promise that I can change and –"

Dean closed his eyes, counting to ten to try and stem the flow of anger that was coursing through him, but that did little to ease Dean and the second he heard his _father_ apologising for his actions, making empty promises that Dean wasn't sure he'd be able to keep; that's when Dean saw red and completely lost what little composure he had left.

Before John Winchester could even register what was happening, Dean had punched his father in the face three times in rapid succession, before Dean had him pinned against the wall, one hand grabbing the front of his shirt, his other hand automatically – unconsciously – plucking his knife from its sheath, gripping it tightly in his hand. "You fucking son of a bitch," Dean hissed darkly, the knife raising up to John's left eye and Dean couldn't help but grin in triumph at the look of absolute terror within John's dark eyes.

"You think it's okay to tell Sammy that he's tainted, that he's cursed, that I'll be disappointed in him, hate him, and abandon him if he told me the truth? You think it's okay to _blame_ Sammy for Mum's death when you know damn well that it was the SOB demon that killed Mum and not Sam?!"

John swallowed hard, not realising how badly he had underestimated his son's protective instincts when he saw the barely controlled rage reflected within his son's deeply darkened green eyes. "Dean, I know I've fucked up, okay? But if you just give me a chance to explain – " John tried to plead his case before Dean's forearm pressed tightly against his neck – not hard enough to stop the air-flow but just enough to keep him stationary – Dean taking complete control over the situation.

"Yeah, like you talked to Sammy before you beat the shit out of him?!" Dean snorted; disdain and venom oozing from his tone. "I am tired of hearing your excuses and your pathetic attempt at an apology Dad. What you've done … I've _killed_ things for doing _less_ to Sammy!" Dean cocked his head, his smirk filled with bitterness and rage; and John honestly feared this … _stranger_ … standing over him, holding him in place with his forearm, the hand holding the knife settling against the base of John's neck, threateningly, warningly.

"Now, here's how this is going to go Dad," Dean said, his tone icy and deadly serious. "Me and Sammy are going to leave, just the two of us. If you follow us or try to take Sam from me I'll –" Dean pushed the knife a little deeper into John's neck, drawing blood. "I'll tell Bobby and Pastor Jim how you _abused_ your son and the great John Winchester name will be sullied forever … or I'll kill you where you stand." Dean tilted his head slightly. "I haven't quite decided which action to take yet. That will be entirely up to you. Do I make myself clear?"

John opened his mouth, prepared to argue with Dean about this decision, but when he saw the look within his son's eyes, he closed his mouth and nodded his compliance instead, feeling numb.

"Good." Dean removed both the knife and his arm from his father's throat and spun around, his back to his father as he prepared to wake Sam and get away from this abusive asshole that he used to admire and tried to imitate in his everyday life, never wanting to set sights on this poor excuse of a father ever again.

"Dean!" John cried out brokenly from behind Dean.

Dean paused, years of ingrained trust and obedience to the man, caused Dean to almost falter in his conviction as he half-turned to look at his father questioningly.

"I'm … I'm sorry. I can't lose you both!"

Dean stiffened at his Dad's heartbroken plea, almost giving into the man, before Sammy's wide, haunted, horrified hazel eyes emerged within his mind and Dean's resolve strengthened. Sam's safety and well-being came first, above everyone and everything else. As long as Sammy was safe and happy, nothing else mattered; not the hunt, not Dad, not even searching for the son of a bitch demon that had murdered his mother. Ever since the kid had been born, Dean had wanted to keep him safe from harm. That was Dean's main goal, his number one priority, and that's all that mattered to Dean. His kid safe, happy and free from pain.

Dean hadn't done his job this time round, failing to see the threat that was standing right in front of them, but Dean quickly learned his lesson and learned to adapt fast where Sammy was concerned. Dean wouldn't trust anyone else to keep Sam safe or to look after him. "Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you put your God damned hands all over my kid!" Dean snapped his tone harsher than he intended.

"Dean … _please_ ,"

Dean looked at his Dad's pathetic, crumbled, pleading expression and he couldn't help but soften his features a little, the look reminding him too much of his baby brother's puppy-eyed expression. "I know you didn't mean to Dad, but it's my _job_ to make sure the kid is safe – you gave me that job, that mission – and I don't think he is safe with you right now." Dean let out a sigh, not used to seeing his father so completely humbled and broken. "I'll tell you what, give us a few months, I'll see where Sam's head is at, and if he feels comfortable, maybe we can visit."

"Visit?" John spluttered, devastated at those words. "But – "

"Baby steps Dad. All of us need to learn to trust each other again … and that's going to take time. So, for now, I am taking Sam away from you, to help him recover as I best I can and then … we'll see how it goes from there."

"Where will you go?" John asked, suddenly frightened for the first time since he had walked into Sam's nursery and had discovered his beloved Mary bleeding, pinned to the ceiling.

Dean gave his Dad a bitter-sweet smile. "We'll be fine Dad. You are the one who taught us how to survive after all."

John nodded, a sad smile gracing his lips. "True," he agreed. "You look out for Sammy, Dean."

"Yeah Dad," Dean smirked. "You know I will. I will always look out for my pain in the ass little brother, that's what I do."

With a curt nod in his father's direction, Dean left the room to collect his younger brother, while the two of them left in the Impala, going where ever the road would take them until the two of them found a permanent place to settle down. As long as Dean had Sammy by his side, he knew everything was going to be all right.

 **THE END**

 **Authors Note:** I would like to thank everyone who has read my attempt at a bad John story (I honestly don't think that John would have ever hurt his boys). What was meant to only be a one shot has grown quite a bit longer than I intended. I also deliberately left it open so that all three Winchesters can eventually come together and work out their differences. I'm a sucker for happy endings. I hope that the explanation for John's unusual behaviour did not disappoint too many people (and that's also the reason why John talked so much at the end here). Anyway, thanks for a making my first time at posting and letting others read my writing be such an awesome experience.

There were times when I would become completely frustrated and wanted to give up on this but thanks to **Mimmi85** for your encouragement and support. Every time I would get a review from you, it made me more determined to finish this, even if just for you! Hope you liked it and I didn't disappoint too much. Thanks.


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